A Light Shines in the Darkness: Book 1
by thadudeman
Summary: Over a year has passed since Malefor's destruction. Despite the era of peace that follows, Spyro is plagued with strange nightmares. He tries to think nothing of them. That is, until they begin to come true... Rated for violence and large scale battles.
1. Introduction

**Author's Note: I have recently been feeling the urge to continue my long abandoned story, A Light Shines in the Darkness. However, realizing how that is not possible due to the awful plot, I have decided to re-write the entire story. Only this time, it will _not_ be discontinued, and it will be approximately 4,000,000,003X better than the old version. However, old material from the last story(the good stuff) will be re-used in this version. The plot will also be similar, as well as the story. **

**And another thing... you all know about my comedic story, The Legend of Stupid, right? Well, I have decided to discontinue that, thanks to an awesomely honest author by the name of Syrix5310. Look at the review, and see. See that I'm an uncreative bastard that copies jokes from a youtube parody because I'm too uninspired and lazy to make up my own jokes. I simply can't keep writing that story out of the guilt I've felt since I started writing the second chapter of that story. **

**Thank you for straightening me out, Syrix. **

**Now, instead of just discontinuing The Legend of Stupid, I feel like I need to do something more. Thus, this story was born. And unlike The Legend of Stupid, this will be completely original, with no stolen content from other sources. I owe you guys. **

**Anyways, here's the story. I hope you like it. And I hope you can forgive me for what I did. **

Over one year had come to pass since the fires of evil had been quelled. Malefor had failed in his plan to destroy the earth, defeated by Spyro and Cynder. Both his body and spirit were obliterated, never to rise again.

Since his defeat, the armies of Malefor had been scattered across the far northern regions, outside of the realm. Being simple creatures, their lives were devoted to Malefor's flesh and blood, bent by his will. With Malefor's death, their sole purpose had not been lost, but confused. Because of this, a new era had been declared, and both Spyro and Cynder were declared as heroes. Everything was at peace.

That is, until one fateful day in which a new evil was awakened…

An egg, one last remaining egg, hatched into the arms of a grublin.

From the second he was born, Malefor's old will was revived within the young hatchling, and the evil force that had bent the world to its core was remade. The creatures of evil were enslaved to the same will, the same flesh, lived through another being. For indeed, this new hatchling was of Malefor's flesh and blood. And this is what the armies of Malefor had been awaiting; the birth of a new leader. The birth of a new devotion.

The birth of a son.

Malafron!


	2. A Wraith in the Night

It was a cloudless night. The cool summer's breeze ruffled the leaves of the trees surrounding the meadow, creating a still, calm feeling in the warm air. The grass swished back and forth softly, moving with the direction of the wind. The stars shone brightly, as if trying to compensate for the minimal light given off by the crescent moon in the night sky, but to no avail.

The cloaked figure took advantage of the darkness, crouching in the tall grass, the blades tickling the fur on his face. His eyes squinted in concentration as he kept his eyes focused on the glimmering firelight in the distance. He clutched a longbow in his right hand, his fingers relaxed around the center of it. The figure took great care not to grip the bow too tightly to prevent the muscles in his arms from tensing up. If this happened, the results could be disastrous if he tried to fire an arrow.

He watched as the fire's brightness gradually lessened, the glimmering light gradually subsiding to an unwavering glow. The creature smiled inwardly. This is what he had been waiting for.

Slowly, he rose up from his crouching position, feeling the burn in his legs as circulation came back to them. He winced, but managed to keep moving at the same, steady pace. He hunched over, his head just above the grass as he glided over the expanse of the field. As he neared the fire, he noticed that it was still rather bright. He cursed himself for not being more cautious. He should have realized that his perception of the fire's brightness grew more and more distorted the further he was away from it. Everybody in the camp was still very much awake, although they were obviously preparing to fall asleep. The noise level of the camp grew even lower as he approached. It wouldn't be long now before his plan could go into effect.

The cloaked figure stayed right where he was, staying far enough away from the fire to avoid being silhouetted to any enemies that might be lurking behind him. If he was discovered, he would have to retreat, and the enemy would be more alert to their surroundings, which would make a surprise attack impossible.

His part of the plan was crucial. He knew that the attack force was badly outnumbered by a ratio of at least three to one. If he failed, attacking the camp would be futile. If no attack could be made on the camp, then the force would be able to move with little resistance through the Valley of Avalar. He pondered this, knowing what would happen if he should fail. His right hand clamped tighter around the bow nervously. All the weight that was placed upon his shoulders was a hard thing to bear. One mistake and…

"Easy, Hunter. Don't stress yourself out." He thought to himself. He relaxed his bow hand once again, allowing himself to take a deep breath despite the small noise it made. "You can do this."

It took him a little while to calm his heartbeat, which had quickened as thoughts of failure raced through his head, down to a reasonable speed. Keeping his mind off of it, he instead focused on the campfire again, noticing that it was rapidly losing brightness as its wooden fuel source was depleted.

The camp became even quieter now, subsiding to the occasional snarl or growl that the camp's rather unintelligent inhabitants made.

"Almost time, Hunter." He assured himself. It was only a little while longer until he could move closer to the camp.

Suddenly, the fur on the back of his neck prickled. Any tiny motion that Hunter might've been making stopped as he felt a presence close by. He slowly turned his head, careful not to move the large hood of his cloak along with it. Any movement could raise awareness of his presence.

He felt his heart rise into his chest as he saw a tall grublin sentry coming his way, on the left side of where he was hiding. At first, he thought it might pass by without noticing him, but it appeared to be heading straight for him. Hunter wondered whether or not he should run, but he quickly realized that if a sentry saw him, he would have alerted the camp already. This sentry had, so far, not seen him. Hunter felt momentarily relieved, but he soon realized that the path the grublin was taking would take him directly in front of where he was. There was no way he could avoid detection in his current position if that happened.

He began to weigh his options; if he tried to move out of the way, the sentry would almost undoubtedly see him, and raise the alarm. He couldn't stay where he was, either. If the grublin continued waking in the same direction, he would pass by too close to where Hunter was. He would be discovered either way.

The grublin was getting closer and closer with every passing moment. Hunter had only one option left at his disposal.

He would have to spill the first blood of the night.

He couldn't use his bow to make the kill. The motion of raising it was too large, and it would be detected by the grublin long before Hunter could send an arrow in his direction. Instead, Hunter slowly raised his pant leg, which was luckily on the side that wasn't visible to the sentry, and felt his boot, searching…

He felt the pommel of the small, thin dagger on the tips of his fingers. He took it out of the sheath he had sewn onto the boot, and placed the tip between his thumb and index finger.

He waited, keeping his wrist tensed up, preparing for what he was about to do. He also took into account the small, round buckler the grublin sentry carried alongside his spear. Fortunately, the creature's neck was still visible. Hunter tensed every muscle in his arm…

The sentry was close enough. He needed to act, now.

He gauged the distance between himself and the grublin, and in one, fluid motion raised his arm behind his head, pivoting his ankles so they were turned towards his would-be assailant. With eye blurring speed, he whipped his arm forward and down, taking only a brief half second to aim before letting go of the knife.

It flew through the air almost faster than the eye could see. The grublin had no idea what hit him as the blade entered his neck, stifling any cries for help that could have been made. The sentry dropped like a stone, his body collapsing onto the earth with a soft thud. His spear left his grasp, falling alongside him.

Hunter turned from the dead sentry, satisfied with his killing throw. He peered over to the campfire once again, and nodded in satisfaction.

It was dim enough. He could move forward without being noticed.

He began to crawl over the ground, careful not to make a sound. Now, the fire was in plain sight. He was close enough that he could hear the crackling pop as tiny sparks came out of the glowing logs. He decided this was close enough.

Quietly, he raised the bow until the center was level with his right eye. Looking down, he chose an arrow that was longer than the rest, and notched it onto his bowstring. It had a small bag wrapped around it, directly behind the point. This was an explosive powder, and rested on the topside of the arrow to prevent it from hitting Hunter's hand when he fired the arrow.

Hunter inhaled deeply, holding his breath as he pulled the arrow back, keeping the motion steady. He tensed his pulling hand, but relaxed the hand that was holding the bow to avoid jerking his arm to the right. If such a thing happened, he would miss the shot.

He aimed, looking down the shaft of the arrow, waiting until he had it on the perfect spot…

He released the arrow.

…


	3. Battle

The explosion was so loud it knocked Hunter off his feet.

The sound shattered the eardrums of anyone nearby, including Hunter himself. Blood leaked out of his ears. Accompanying the shrieking _bang_ was a bright flash of light. Even when closing his eyes, the cheetah warrior was still temporarily blinded by the flash.

The blast could be heard and seen for miles in the still night, echoing out beyond the reaches of the Valley of Avalar. Anyone who dared to look at the explosion itself would find themselves blinded by a nighttime sun.

This was the signal for the attack group to attack.

Hunter was disoriented, dropping his bow and covering the sides of his head in pain. He could hear nothing but the high pitched ringing in his ears. Despite this, he opened his eyes, to behold a scene of chaos before him.

The explosion had not actually killed anyone, but it had served its purpose. Sure enough, as Hunter had predicted, the majority of the camp was incapacitated. Anybody that was not reduced to an agonized wretch was too distracted looking at the explosion to see thirty warriors, led by Prowlus, stealing up behind them.

Hunter regained his composure, picking up his bow. He quickly drew another arrow out of his quiver, and began to run towards the camp. Within seconds, he sighted a grublin, rolling on the ground, covering his ears. Hunter notched the arrow onto his bowstring, aimed, and fired.

The arrow put the grublin out of his misery, striking his neck. Hunter turned his attention back to the camp, and began to fire arrow after arrow into the vicinity, keeping a steady stream going into the camp. Three enemies were down within seconds, killed by Hunter's uncanny accuracy with a bow.

Hunter kept firing, taking advantage of the moments when the enemy was in disarray. The enemy forces would need to be reduced to half their number before they could recover from the ear splitting screech and blinding flash of the explosion.

"I hope the attack party gets here soon!" Hunter shouted to himself.

…

Prowlus sat in wait, clutching his broadsword in his paw. He looked at the small tents that marked the edge of the enemy camp, and then, back to the fire. Hunter was nowhere in sight.

_That's probably a good thing,_ thought Prowlus. If he couldn't see him, chances were, neither could the enemy.

He and his thirty men were anxious, eager to see Hunter's unmistakable signal call them to battle. The ones with bows and arrows fidgeted with their bowstrings, testing them to make sure they wouldn't snap. This was just a result of being nervous, Prowlus knew. They had already checked their weapons before going to battle. Prowlus found himself doing similar things, such as tapping his boot to make sure his dagger was in place, and testing the edge of his sword. Truth be told, he was just as nervous as the rest of them. He wasn't fond of the idea that he and his little army were going to be facing a force more than three times their size.

They waited for what seemed like hours. Prowlus had instructed them to stay quiet, but two soldiers in the back of the group had begun to talk amongst themselves in whispers.

Prowlus turned his head, glaring daggers at the two soldiers. Upon seeing their chief's face, they fell silent, not wanting to anger him. Prowlus nodded his head once, and turned back around to stare at the camp.

Now, the fire at the other side of the camp wasn't so bright anymore. He was too far away to hear noises from the camp, but if he had been closer, he would've realized the camp was virtually silent. The creatures in the camp had fallen asleep, oblivious to what was about to happen.

Suddenly, a sixth sense told him that the time had almost come. Turning his head away from the camp once more, he addressed his troops with a quiet voice.

"No war cries. Stay quiet until we're inside the camp. We don't want the enemy knowing that we're here until after we get inside." He paused, and then continued. "Everyone with a bow and arrows, Get shafts onto your bowstrings. The signal's going to go off very soon. Kill every enemy in sight. No mercy." His voice turned cold.

His soldiers nodded their heads in acknowledgement. They understood the orders.

Satisfied, Prowlus turned his head once more, facing the camp again. He braced himself, getting mentally prepared for the attack. He could only hope that Hunter was right about the explosion. If the enemy was not incapacitated by it, he and his men would practically be committing suicide. Yet somehow, he trusted in what Hunter had said. He would just have to attack and hope for the best.

_C'mon, Hunter. Set off the signal already!_ Prowlus screamed inwardly. Yet, as the minutes went by, nothing happened.

Prowlus began to worry. This was taking too long. A thought entered his head.

_Maybe Hunter was caught…_

The thought tied his stomach into knots. If Hunter had been caught, the entire Valley of Avalar was doomed. Yet, there was no commotion inside the camp. Prowlus sighed, relieved.

"No." He whispered inaudibly to no particular person. Hunter hadn't been caught by the enemy. Fear was replaced with a surge of relief. Prowlus sighed, the thought expelled from his head.

Yet somehow, something was not right. This was still taking too long. Hunter should've set off the signal by now. Perhaps he…

His train of thought was cut short as a brilliant light flashed out of the corner of his eye, where the campfire was located. It was immediately followed by the loudest explosion Prowlus had ever heard. His ears popped, and he was nearly knocked off his feet by the high pitched _bangaboom_ of the explosion as it slammed into his eardrums like a wrecking ball.

The signal had been given.

Prowlus, unable to hear much, yelled to his troops behind him. "Go, go, go! Move out!"

His troops were also affected by the sound of the explosion, so they barely heard their leader's cries. However, his movement forward caused them to realize what was going on. This was Hunter's signal flare.

They moved up from their low lying positions, standing in the tall grass. They took flight, following their leader's path towards the campsite.

The battle had begun.

A grublin sentry, shocked by the sound of the explosion, turned around to find out what was going on. He saw a small mushroom cloud of smoke rise above the tops of the makeshift tents, and stared, his eyes fixed upon the sight.

It was the last thing he saw before an arrow zipped into his head. He fell without a sound.

Prowlus's small force moved across the field with great speed, trying to reach the inside of the camp before their enemies recovered.

Two more grublins came into sight. They were panicked, running toward the explosion, brandishing their small, stubby spears.

Three arrows flew through the air, hissing like angry hornets. The two guards didn't stand a chance. Their squeals were cut short as the arrows found their marks.

The army kept moving, nearly inside the perimeter of the camp…

They entered, turning the once serene place into a bloodbath within seconds.

Arrows flew, swords slashed, spears stabbed. Many of the grublins and other beasts, blinded by the light of the explosion, did not even see their attackers before they were killed.

Prowlus encountered a grublin. Without a second's hesitation, he sliced it into two halves with his sword. He kept moving, cutting down any enemy he saw. His troops followed suit, slaughtering anything in sight. Within less than thirty seconds, a score had already been killed by the cheetahs' efficient attack.

Soon, however, their enemies began to regain their composure. Realizing what was going on, they gathered weapons, and with great haste, began to attack their attackers with vigor.

Fortunately, the grublins were outnumbered. The western side of the camp was still either incapacitated, or had no idea what was going on. In fact, many thought the attack was coming from the west. The thirty warriors fought them with equal ferocity, and soon, the attackers were exterminated. Nobody had fallen. Prowlus raised a shout to his men.

"Keep moving! Head for the western side of the camp!" He pointed his sword in the direction of the fire, and began to run in the direction he had indicated. His soldiers followed him, leaving five or six warriors to cover the rear of the group in case any enemies remained to the east. The group annihilated anybody that dared to get in their way.

Prowlus spotted another creature running toward him. This was a goblin, slightly larger than a grublin, and much more deadly. He got into a fighter's stance as the little creature slashed at him with a shortsword.

He parried the blow, knocking the goblin's sword to the right, leaving it exposed. He slashed downward, hacking his foe to the side. He continued running, trying his hardest to reach Hunter. His assumed his friend would need some help.

…

Prowlus could not have been more right.

Hunter was firing arrows like mad at the throes of assailants coming at him. He had so far managed to kill every enemy that came at him, but the arrows in his quiver were running low.

Taking only a half second to aim, he fired an arrow at a grublin only ten meters away. It struck the beast in the heart, killing it almost instantly. He was already grabbing another arrow when a second grublin came out from the shadows, darting across the small clearing, spear in hand. Hunter barely managed to dispatch him before yet another one came from his right. The grublin was almost upon him before an arrow sank into his side. The force of the impact sent it spinning, nearly landing on top of Hunter.

The cheetah warrior knew that he couldn't continue this for long. There seemed to be an endless stream of the disgusting creatures. Unfortunately, Hunter did not have an endless supply of arrows to match.

Then, all of a sudden, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something. He whirled around, and to his horror, he saw a massive, six foot tall beast coming straight for him. The muscles on its arms bulged almost as much as its fat belly. The creature had two sharp, pointy ears on the top of its head, as well as green, wrinkly skin. It carried a massive axe in both hands, looking as if it was a toy in the giant's hands.

He had no time to think, only to react. He drew an arrow from his quiver, and notched it onto his bow. He pulled back…

The hulking beast was upon him, swinging his fist at Hunter's bow.

Hunter's bow was knocked to the side, sent spinning out of his grasp. The arrow zoomed off into the night. He instinctively threw himself to the ground as the creature swung the axe, roaring.

The axe missed, nearly taking off Hunter's head. Hunter rolled to the left, and sprang up, instinctively reaching for his boot dagger, but it wasn't there.

Hunter cursed. He had already used it on the sentry.

He had very little time to think as the creature charged, whirling the axe over his head. Hunter leapt to the side, just as the axe slammed into the earth where he had just stood. Taking advantage of the moment, Hunter swiftly got up from the ground, and threw a backhand punch at the beast's head as it tried to retrieve the axe from the dirt.

The punch hit the brute squarely in the jaw, sending him spinning to the grassy plain. Immediately, seeing the beast was down for the time being, Hunter began trying to pry the axe out of the ground.

He pulled as hard as he could, but it would not budge. He looked behind him, to see that his much larger foe was already getting up from the ground, appearing unaffected by the cheetah warrior's punch. His sharp, yellow fangs gleamed in the darkness, his gaze fixed on Hunter.

Hunter, unable to pull the axe out of the ground, ran for his life. Looking behind him, he noticed that his enemy was already in pursuit, ripping the axe out of the ground with little effort.

The huge beast was already closing the space between himself and Hunter, catching up to him with little effort.

Hunter could not outrun his enemy. He could only try to move faster as the beast closed the distance even more.

Five meters… four… three…

An arrow whizzed past Hunter's head, nearly nicking his ear in the process.

The shaft burrowed itself into the giant's chest, piercing his heart. With one last roar, the giant fell, right onto his axe.

Hunter looked behind him once again, slowing down as he saw his would-be killer, lying dead on the ground. He turned his face frontward, and stopped running. A cheetah archer crouched next to a tent directly in front of him, his bowstring vibrating back and forth.

Hunter gasped, sucking in air greedily. He gave his thanks to the archer between breaths.

"Thank you…for saving me." He put his hands on his knees, hunching over tiredly. "I would've been a goner if you hadn't come along."

"No problem." The archer replied, his bright red eyes gleaming in the firelight. To Hunter's surprise, the voice sounded very youthful. Not only this, but his voice had cracked. It wasn't very noticeable, but very little escaped Hunter's observation. This cheetah was a youth. Hunter pondered this for a moment, taking it all in.

_Strange… I don't remember Prowlus recruiting anyone this young for the attack…_

He didn't have much time to think about it as he heard another voice coming from his left.

"Hunter!" Prowlus was coming his way, running as fast as his legs could carry him. He was flanked by four cheetah spearmen, each one of them peering into the spaces between the tents in case any enemies were still lurking about. "I saw what happened! Are you alright?"

Hunter immediately recognized Prowlus' voice. Turning his body to face his chief, he nodded his head, still out of breath. "Yes… I'm okay."

"Good. That's very good."

Prowlus sounded out of breath as well, most likely from the long run over here. Hunter gave no response, still inhaling and exhaling rapidly as he tried to regain his breath. Prowlus started speaking again.

"Well, it's a good thing that… _thing_… tripped and fell on his axe, or you would've been killed. That's very lucky, I suppose."

Hunter shook his head. "Well, actually, this fine young warrior…"

He turned to face the cheetah warrior that had saved his life, but stopped speaking, shocked.

He wasn't there.

Hunter looked somewhat dumbfounded, his eyebrows raised.

"Where'd he go?" He asked nobody in particular. "He was there only a few moments ago…"

Prowlus noticed the puzzled expression on Hunter's face, and asked, "What's wrong, Hunter?"

His question only seemed to confuse Hunter even more. "You mean you didn't see him? He was standing…"

Then he realized what happened. There was no way Prowlus could have seen the cheetah from where he had been. To him, it appeared as though the hulking beast had just tripped and fallen on his axe. Hunter frowned.

"See who, Hunter?" Prowlus looked equally confused, waiting for an explanation from the other cheetah. He had no idea what Hunter was talking about. An awkward silence ensued before a reply came back from the other cheetah.

"There was an archer standing right here," Hunter indicated with his pointer finger where the figure had been standing, "And he fired an arrow at the enemy behind me. It struck him right in the chest. That's why he tripped and fell on his axe." He said. "And now he's gone."

"Maybe he just went to join the others? I sent my men to clear out anybody that might be still alive in the camp." Prowlus told him. Hunter stopped to think about this for a moment, and finally, nodded his head in agreement.

"Yeah. I guess so. That must've been what happened." At first, he had thought the explanation had made sense. But, with deeper thought, he realized something was wrong.

None of the cheetahs had made it this far to the west of the camp. They were all surely behind Prowlus, and he had only arrived here a short time ago. The archer had already been here, waiting.

Despite having taken notice of this strange fact, he kept silent. Instead of prolonging the discussion, he stayed silent. The chief nodded his head in approval, smiling.

"You did fantastic, Hunter, my friend. You were the one that made this attack a success. Had it not been for your amazing plan, we wouldn't have been able to do this attack tonight. Once again, you've proven yourself to be a more capable leader then I could ever be. Thank you."

Hunter, still dazed, only managed to mutter out a lame sounding "You're welcome" from under his breath.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, the rest of the soldiers began to steadily trickle back to where Prowlus and Hunter were. In an urgent tone, Prowlus asked one of his men, "Has anybody been killed in the fighting?"

To his chieftain's relief, the soldier shook his head. "Nobody was killed. There were a few minor injuries, but the attack was a complete success."

Prowlus, for the first time in a long time, grinned broadly, showing his small, white teeth in complete happiness.

"Let us remember this day, when we purged our enemies from the face of the earth! Let us remember the day when our forces were utterly victorious over a force three times our size! For Avalaaaaaaaar!"

He raised up a shout, crying out to the sky, whirling his sword in circles around his head. His men soon took up the cry, raising their weapons as high as they could, yelling at the top of their lungs.

"For Avalaaaaaaaaaaaarr!"

Hunter stood there, his arms at his sides, not participating in the glorious victory shout. His mind was too focused on looking at the cheetahs surrounding him. He listened for a young voice among the crowd. He searched for the cheetah that had saved his life, his eyes darting left and right. He peered at the eyes of everyone around him, seeking out the blood red irises of the warrior that had saved his life.

He saw nothing. He heard nothing.

Hunter's blood ran cold, shivering as a chill was sent up his spine. He asked himself a question, repeating it in his mind over and over again.

Who was the mysterious archer?

…

**Author's Note: I just thought I needed to say this; You want to know why my chapters are so short? It's because I tend to change chapters with every major change in setting. I hope to write things that way so I can update more frequently. Just so you know. **

**Who is the mysterious archer? Do any of you know?**

**No? **

**Excellent. I want to keep you guessing. :)**

**Was this chapter any good? Does the plot seem all over the place? Is the story well written? Do you hate me because of what I did in The Legend of Stupid? Please, review! I don't bite! :D**


	4. Romance and Strife

Spyro gasped, instinctively bracing himself as he slammed into the rocky ground. He held back a scream as he landed directly on his wing, dislocating it. Struggling, he managed to rise up again, his legs shaking weakly as he pushed himself up off the ground. His actions were greeted with a deep, throaty laugh which echoed around the fiery cavern.

"Is that all you've got? I expected more from the dragon of the prophecy!" Malefor sneered contemptuously at the shivering body of Spyro. "Come on! Face a real purple dragon!"

Spyro shook violently, blood flowing like tiny rivers down his battered scales. His blood trickled down onto the earth, forming small, crimson puddles beneath him. Unable to fully support himself, he staggered, attempting to make a move toward the Dark Master. The larger dragon cackled evilly, his gleaming fangs illuminated in the firelight.

"Is the baby dragon tired already?" He took a step, approaching Spyro slowly, taking relish in the moment. "Let's put him to sleep."

Suddenly, as if spurred on by the Dark Master's words, Spyro roared, both in fury and in pain. Despite his body crying out in protest, he began to run, charging headlong at Malefor, aiming his horns at the dragon's large belly.

Malefor smiled, sidestepping to the left. Spyro had no time or energy to respond to the maneuver, and could only watch in horror as his adversary lifted his arm above his head, and swing it viciously down at his unprotected body with a backhanded punch.

The impact sent Spyro flying. He screamed out in agony as his body slammed into the ground, tumbling and rolling in an amassment of wings and scales. He rammed into the wall with awful force, leaving behind a large dent before sliding to the ground in a broken heap.

Spyro feebly tried to lift his head, only succeeding in raising it for a few short moments before letting it fall back to the dusty ground. He could only watch as Malefor slowly advanced toward him, his eyes smiling wickedly.

His heart thumped like a drum in his chest as his enemy grew closer with each step. Now, he was only a few steps away.

_Thump thump thump thump thump…_

Malefor was now right beside his prone form, laughing with satisfaction at seeing his enemy defeated. He slowly raised his arm for the killing stroke.

_Thumpathumpathumpathump…_

He swung his arm, his sharp claws zooming seeking to pierce Spyro's exposed chest.

"Raagh!"

Spyro awoke from his horrific nightmare, his heart beating violently. He gasped, throwing off the sheets that covered him in a panicked frenzy. He felt a chill as he did this, his body drenched in a cold sweat. Clutching his chest, he waited for Malefor's claws to slice through his belly, spilling his blood over the bed in which he lay.

He inhaled and exhaled rapidly, his eyes wide with fright as they darted around the room, searching for the Dark Master, expecting him to emerge from the darkness and snatch him away into the night.

Finally, Spyro began to get a hold of himself, his pulse beginning to decrease in speed, along with his breathing. His ceased gasping, and instead began to breath deeply, inhaling and exhaling as slowly as he could muster. He lay back onto his pillow once more, feeling relieved.

"Spyro?"

Spyro was surprised to hear Cynder's voice beside him. He turned his head to look at Cynder, who was laying awake right next to him. Her pupils were dilated, her face a picture of worry.

"Are you okay? You look awful." She shuffled uncomfortably.

"I… I'm fine." Spyro lied, not wanting Cynder to worry about him. In truth, Spyro was terrified of what he had just dreamed. Everything had been so vivid; the fire, the claws, the pain… it had all seemed so real...

"Are you sure? You seemed pretty scared when you woke up." She paused, and then continued. "You can tell me what's wrong, Spyro. There's no need to hide anything from me."

Spyro sighed, hesitating. He didn't want her to worry, but at the same time, he didn't want to keep secrets from her. After thinking for a little bit, he spoke.

"It was just a nightmare, Cynder. I'm fine." He replied defensively.

Spyro rolled back over onto his back again, trying to avoid the conversation that was threatening to start. He closed his eyes, trying to fall back asleep.

"Wow. That must've been some nightmare if it made you yell out like that. Are you sure you're alright?" Cynder asked sweetly, pushing herself closer to Spyro.

Spyro rolled over onto his side again, turning his back to Cynder. "I don't want to talk about it."

Cynder frowned. Despite her disappointment, she nodded he head understandingly. She allowed a smile to creep onto her face. "Well… okay. Tell me if you want to talk about it, okay?"

Spyro felt relief course over him. Exhausted, he closed his eyes, happy that they wouldn't have to talk about this anymore. He lay there, trying to not to think about the nightmare. Suddenly, he heard Cynder's voice break the silence again, causing his eyes to open.

"I love you."

Despite his tiredness, he smiled for the first time that night. All of a sudden he felt warm inside, comforted by those three simple words. He rolled over onto his other side, now face to face with Cynder.

"I love you, too."

Then, Cynder did something Spyro did not expect. Slowly but surely, she leaned forward and licked his cheek. It lasted only a second, but its effect lasted much longer. Spyro felt totally consoled, forgetting about his nightmare. He smiled even wider, his happiness replacing his feelings of fear.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Spyro."

They both fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

…

The sun peeked over the horizon, awakening the world from its long slumber. The sun's rays reached across the world, casting away the blanket of darkness that covered the earth and staining the sky a deep golden shade. The birds began to chirp, singing their song with contentment as they greeted the new day.

Spyro awoke to the sun shining on his face, the bright light hurting his eyes. Lazily, he raised an arm over his eyes, shielding his eyes from the bright light of the sun that was streaming in through the window. He yawned as he began to slowly sit up in the bed, brushing the sleep from his eyes with his free hand. He stretched groggily, flexing his wings as he tried to regain circulation in them.

He turned away from the window, naturally setting his gaze on the sleeping form of Cynder next to him. As he looked, he began to stare a bit at her, watching her as she slept peacefully, her chest slowly rising and falling with each breath. He couldn't help himself from feeling a warm sensation as he looked at the pretty dragoness beside him. Her red belly, her small horns, her glossy jet black scales…

He sat there, nearly motionless for minute, feeling a rush of emotions wash over him. What was this feeling that warmed him so much?

Spyro could remember it all. He remembered her three words, barely a whisper above the madness as they burned themselves into Spyro's heart like a hot iron.

"I love you."

Ever since then, their love and passion for one another grew, their relationship growing stronger with each passing day. Their love for one another was obvious to the inhabitants of Warfang. They walked together, talked together, and as of recently, even slept in the same bed together. Over the course of only a year, their relationship had turned from the occasional peck on the cheek to something far more serious.

Suddenly, his train of thought was interrupted as he saw Cynder's eyes flutter slightly. He was quickly broken out of his little trance, and he turned his head away from her for a moment, realizing that she was waking up. Slowly, he got up out of bed, stretching his wings as he placed his front and back legs onto the floor.

Sure enough, Cynder's eyes opened, but then quickly closed again as the sunlight from the window streamed onto her face. She groaned and placed a hand in front of her eyes.

"Good morning, Cyn." He greeted her lovingly.

She rolled her head sideways on the pillow at the sound of Spyro's voice. Seeing him standing there, his tired eyes looking back at her with a smile on his face, she couldn't help but smile back.

"Hey, Spyro. Did you sleep well?" She wiped the sleep from her eyes. "Did you have that nightmare again?"

Spyro had completely forgotten about the nightmare. Images of his death flooded his mind again. His blood, his broken body, his helplessness as Malefor made the killing strike on his belly…

"Spyro?"

"What? Oh… no, I slept well. No nightmares." He replied, shaking his head slightly. She nodded her head once in satisfaction.

"That's good. I'm glad to hear that you're doing okay, Spyro." She pushed herself up with her front legs, stretching her wings before getting up out of bed. Spyro watched her stretch, momentarily entranced by her movements before looking away and walking around the bed. She nuzzled him affectionately, and they both walked out of the room, closing the door behind them.

…

Spyro and Cynder left their small, white marble house, constructed by the moles as an act of gratitude soon after Malefor's defeat. They had insisted on making it larger, but Spyro and Cynder had turned down the offer. However, despite being small, it was very cozy, and that was what mattered most to the dragon couple.

They walked together down the wet stone of the path, enjoying the cloudless sky.

Cynder looked up to the sky, relishing the sun shining on her face. She let her eyes drift shut momentarily. "It's been awhile since it stopped being rainy and cloudy. It's nice."

Spyro nodded his head in agreement, walking around a small puddle. "Yeah. I thought it wasn't ever going to stop raining. It's great to see the clouds have finally gone away."

They stayed close together as they traveled the straight, stone road. Buildings rose up around them on the left and right, seeming to wall them off from the rest of the world. The sun filled them both with energy, their wings warming up as the blood circulated to them.

Lately, life for both young dragons had been very relaxed. Neither of them had much to do around the city, but they had not been bored. Instead, they used this long period of time to grow their relationship. Both of them were going steady now, and now their status as a couple was widely known across the entire kingdom.

Spyro flapped his wings a little bit, turning to face Cynder. He looked at her red belly, her beautiful body, her eyes…

Those eyes… those two pools of beautiful sapphire… those same eyes that used to be so filled with fury and rage and confusion, were now filled with happiness and peace. They mesmerized him. So much about one's inner being was revealed by their eyes…

A thought crept into his head, one that had plagued him for a long time.

"Should I ask her?" Spyro thought to himself. "Is now the best time? What if she says no?"

He stared straight ahead, thinking. Finally, he made up his mind. He was going to ask her today.

He flexed his wings, feeling the blood circulate through them before giving them an experimental flap.

"Hey, Cynder…" Spyro cleared his throat before blurting out, "You wanna race?"

Her face lit up in surprise. "Well, Spyro… I don't know…"

She was cut off as Spyro took a few running steps forward and leapt into the air, flapping his wings as he took off into the air. He shouted back to her, "Race you to the wall!"

She shook her head, chuckling. Giving her wings an experimental flap, she took off, trying to close the gap between herself and Spyro.

"Hey! Wait up!" She shouted after him, giggling as she beat her wings as fast as she could, keeping her tail stiff behind her as she tried to rocket past Spyro.

Spyro zoomed over the city, with Cynder close behind. The wall began to draw near, the massive grassy plain coming into view. The dragoness began to catch up with Spyro, her wings flapping furiously as she tried to catch up with him. They could here each other's laughter despite the wind whipping violently over them as they shot through the air.

Spyro dove like a falcon, tucking his wings behind his back, and Cynder followed suit. After what seemed like ages, they finally reached the wall. Spyro had won, but only by a little bit. They landed on the battlements, rolling with the impact despite slowing down before they hit the stone of the wall. The giggled and laughed with glee as they rolled over, pushing themselves up off the ground with their powerful legs. Spyro grinned, breathing hard from the exertion.

"I win." His chest heaved up and down as he sucked in air greedily. Cynder gave him a playful shove.

"You only won because you cheated!" She gasped. Spyro nodded his head slowly.

"Yeah… I guess you're right." He took a step toward her, turning to face the wide expanse of field. His eyes widened. "It's a beautiful view, isn't it?"

Cynder smirked as Spyro changed the subject. Subconsciously, she turned her head, and her jaw dropped a bit. It truly was beautiful.

The lush, green field glistened with morning dew, each tiny drop of water a mirror as it reflected the sunlight. The sun turned the sky into a lovely shade of gold and pink as it began to peak out over the horizon. The Mountain of Malefor was now little more than a gaping hole, its black, charred landscape beginning to turn green as the flow of magma ceased. Tall, forested hills rose up on their right, far off in the distance, shrouded with mist. All in all, it was a sight to behold. Cynder's jaw relaxed open, taking it all in.

"Yeah." She paused. "It's beautiful."

As she stood there, Spyro began to inch closer to her, sliding sideways inch by inch until he was right beside her. His tail moved side to side, eventually crisscrossing with hers. Startled by this sudden contact, Cynder glanced over her shoulder. Seeing Spyro there, she relaxed, and leaned into him gently, letting him partially support her with his body weight. She nuzzled his neck affectionately, closing her eyes with contentment. He nuzzled her back, enjoying her touch. They looked ahead of them, mesmerized by the sunrise.

_Now,_ thought Spyro. _Now is the best time. Just do it. Ask her. _

Even so, Spyro hesitated. _What if it's too early? What if she says no? What if it ruins us?_

_No, _Spyro thought resolutely. _You know she won't say no. Ask her._

Finally, after much thought, Spyro made his decision. He cleared his throat quietly, trying as hard as he could to keep his voice from shaking. He stepped away from her only a little bit, shifting his eyes until they looked right into hers.

"Um… Cynder? Can I ask you something?"

He could see her eyes light up as he said this. Her head lifted up as she met his gaze. "Sure, Spyro. What is it?"

Spyro cleared his throat again, nervously. After a short pause, he began to speak again.

"Well, I mean…" He stumbled, trying to find the right words. There was no going back. "We've been together for over a year now. Both you and I have grown closer together."

He watched as she looked down slightly, trying to hide a smile that was creeping onto her lips. He continued. "We've grown up so much over these past few years. We're no longer the young dragons that we used to be."

What he said was true. Both Spyro and Cynder had grown. Despite the fact they were not full grown yet, they had gotten much taller, and their bodies had gone through many other physical changes as well. Spyro had developed a new layer of muscle underneath his darkening purple scales, and Cynder's legs had grown more slender. Not only this, but their horns had grown much longer. Even though they were not yet fully grown, they were treated like adults by the rest of the city.

"Yeah… Go on." Cynder nodded her head, urging him to continue. Spyro could have sworn that a bead of sweat trickled down his brow at that very moment. He resisted the urge to wipe it off of his face lest she see how nervous he was.

"Well… I feel… I think…um…" Spyro struggled to say the right words, looking at the ground, afraid that he would mess things up if he continued to look at Cynder.

_How am I going to ask her? _Spyro agonized himself. As he stood there, Cynder's soft voice seeped into his psyche, breaking the awkward silence.

"Are you okay, Spyro? What do you want to ask me?" Cynder blinked slowly.

Spyro stared at the stone surface of the wall, shaking his head. "N-Never mind. It's nothing."

_Coward._

"What?" Cynder looked perplexed. "Are you sure? You were saying some pretty great stuff a second ago." She leaned forward, kissing him on the cheek. His upset expression brightened almost instantly, making her smile. "I already told you that you don't have to be afraid of sharing things that are on your mind with me. Come on." She took a step forward toward him, nuzzling his neck affectionately. "Tell me. Please."

"I…I can't. I just can't." Spyro stammered. "I don't want to talk about it."

Cynder's disappointed expression went unseen by Spyro due to her position. She ceased rubbing his neck and stepped back, smiling as she tried to hide her confused feelings.

"Okay… let me know if you change your mind, okay? Anytime you want to talk."

"Alright." Spyro nodded his head, his eyes distant. "I will."

The purple dragon felt as if he could have thrown himself from the walltop, right then and there. As she turned away, he grimaced with frustration at himself.

_Idiot! You blew it! _He chastised himself in the safe haven of his thoughts. _You're a damn coward, Spyro! _

Cynder looked out over the great expanse of grassy meadow before her as the sun continued to rise up over the horizon. Yet, as she stared off in the distance, her thoughts were on Spyro.

Why was he acting so strangely? Could it have been the nightmare from last night?

Yes, she thought. It had to be the nightmare. He had been acting a little funny ever since it had occurred. She debated whether of not she should ask him about it again, but his touchiness on the subject last night caused her to decide against it. Yet, there had to be something she could do?

She glanced back over her shoulder, and she saw him there, looking sad and almost angry. Her confusion turned to worry. Why was he like this?

She tried not to think about it. Spyro would be fine, she thought. There was nothing to worry about, she told herself. Just relax…

She allowed her body to lean against Spyro, who had shuffled closer to her as she was deep in thought. They stayed silent, trying to enjoy what remained of the wondrous sunrise.

…

**Author's Note: Dang, that chapter took foreevr to write. Stupid school and other crap. DX **

**Anywho, this story will most likely update very slowly. The sad thing is, this chapter was supposed to have a second part that introduced the main villain, but since the chapter took so long to write, I had to update it as a new chapter before this story completely dropped off of the radar. That is, if it hasn't already. XD **

**Was this chapter cheesy? Stupid? Too short? Too long? Please, review! Let me know what I can improve on! :D **


	5. Malafron

The opening of the great mountain gaped open, its entrance covered in a heavy fog. The chasm appeared to have teeth, pale green fangs that gave the mountain the appearance of a great beast, its angry mouth opened wide, as if it was waiting for something to enter it, only to have its jaws snap shut over the unsuspecting victim.

As the cavern dipped down into the mountain, it widened, revealing hundreds of smaller caves that dotted the walls of the cavern. Many of these caves were connected by thin paths cut into the rock. Fiery beacons and torches were scattered around, lighting up each pathway. Large platforms rose up everywhere, rising above the gaping black chasm below.

The Catacombs was bustling with activity, with hundreds of grublins, goblins, harpies, wyrms, and other beasts traveling through the caves. The place was colossal, like a city within the mountain. Large towers of stone became homes for many of the flying beasts, looking like beehives as the hideous creatures flew in and out of the holes they had made in the rock.

Out of the hundreds of caves here, one was larger than all the others. Two stone columns rose up on both sides of it, their tops holding a large torch. A long, thick arch connected the pillars together, framing the entrance of the cave.

It was here that Desraa walked, very slowly, very quietly, with his arms behind his back and his gaze set on the ground in front of him. His face was the picture of worry as he tried to calm himself down. The cheetah knew that his master would not be pleased with the news.

Only several paces away there was a small, black door. On either side was a tall ogre, their hulking bodies blocking the doorway. Each one of them held a long pike in one hand and a shield in another. As Desraa approached, they stared at him with their black, beady eyes, lowering their pikes slightly in a menacing gesture. Desraa stopped his movement forward and stared into the eyes of the ogre on his left, and declared with an authoritative tone, "I have news to bring to his majesty. Step aside."

Upon hearing this, both ogres reluctantly stepped to the side, allowing Desraa to pass through. The cheetah nodded his head once approvingly before he walked forward, knocking on the door three times with a closed fist. He waited, eyeing the ogres to his sides warily. After only a few seconds, he heard the sound of the doors beginning to move, the sound of rock grinding against rock as the door began to slide into the wall, slowly but surely. As the inside of the room was revealed, Desraa looked down to the earth, not daring to look ahead of him as the door ceased moving.

As soon as the movement had stopped, Desraa took five steps forward, and kneeled down, still staring at the ground. The door began to slide shut again, making the same, loud grinding sound as before. Desraa waited for several seconds until the door closed. Without looking up, he yelled out in a loud voice which echoed around the cavern, "Hail, Lord Malafron, son of Malefor! Ruler of the Underworld! Controller of Darkness! Master of the Mind!"

He waited, not daring to lift his head. The sound of his shallow breathing was all that could be heard until an almost infantile voice broke the silence.

"Save it, Desraa, my commander. Rise up."

Without hesitation, the nervous cheetah rose up from his position, looking up for the first time since he had entered the room.

The place was dark, illuminated only by an ancient chandelier that hung over the center of the room, along with many torches that were scattered about. The firelight flickered slowly, reflecting off of the smooth walls of the underground chamber, giving it an eerie appearance. However, Desraa's eyes were not focused on anything else around him, save for the small figure that stood far away from him, up on a rocky ledge that poked out into the center of the room.

A young dragon, no more than a year old, peered down at Desraa. His head was held high, his facial expression revealing his annoyance at this sudden intrusion.

"Well, Desraa," Malafron said disdainfully, "May I ask why you have chosen to barge into my throne room unannounced?"

To the casual observer, the dragon looked almost comical for his position. The young dragon stood only a meter high, and his horns were not yet fully grown. His head and neck were a solid shade of bright purple, but his body was blotched with dark purple spots. His tail was an extremely dark shade of mauve, completely disproportionate with the rest of his body. His eyes were a deep aquamarine color, bright and filled with life. However, these eyes were now glaring coldly at Desraa, angry at him for his unexpected visit.

The cheetah tried not to hesitate, but had to pause for a few seconds to think of what he was going to say. He thought, and responded respectfully, keeping his voice from shaking as he did so.

"My Lord, your commander wishes to share some news regarding the invasion force at the Valley of Avalar."

The fire in Malafron's eyes lessened, and he smirked with satisfaction at his reply. "Very well, then," His childlike voice echoed. "What news do you have for me?" His tail twitched expectantly.

Desraa began to relay the news to Malafron, calmly but fearfully. "Well… the messenger we sent out to receive word on the invasion force in the Valley of Avalar arrived only a few hours ago." He paused, swallowing hard. "When he got there… well…"

"Well, what?" Malafron began to grow impatient. "Tell me, Desraa. What is it?"

"Um…" He braced himself. "Everybody there was…" He paused. Malafron rolled his eyes. Suddenly, he blurted out, "…dead."

Malafron was stunned. If he hadn't been angry before, he certainly was now. He gritted his teeth together hard, baring his fangs at Desraa. Even though he was a very young dragon, his face still looked fierce.

"Dead? What do you mean, dead?" The purple dragon screeched, his high pitched voice sounding even louder as the sound reverberated around the cavernous room. Desraa, feeling very afraid, began to get onto his knees.

"They were attacked in the night. None survived." His tone turned to one of pleading. "Forgive me for bringing you this tragic news, my lord."

Ignoring Desraa's plea, Malafron questioned him once again, still shouting.

"Attacked? Who attacked them?" He demanded to know.

Desraa, twiddling his fingers nervously, replied lamely, "I do not know, my lord. None of the attackers were found at the scene. Perhaps they carried their dead away from the battle scene…" He tried to change the subject, but winced as Malafron's voice cut into him like a scythe, causing him to shake in fear.

"You do not know?" Malafron mocked him. "Of course you do? Who else could it be, you imbecile?" He stopped, looking at the pitiful form of Desraa beneath him, on his knees. "You should know the answer to that question better than anyone here!"

Knowing that he could not play dumb with the Master of the Mind, he answered quietly, "The Cheetahs of Avalar."

"Yes, the Cheetahs of Avalar! Who else could it be?" He shook his head, enraged. "Those damned Avalarians have gone too far this time, wiping out fourscore of my army! At first they were only a nuisance, striking at random, but now they have crossed the line." He paused, hatred apparent as he spat out these words toward Desraa. The cheetah general stayed there, helpless, not knowing what Malafron was going to do next. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Malafron spoke again, his voice quiet…evil.

"They will be wiped off of the face of the earth. The world will hear their screams of anguish by the time I am through with them." He said, nodding his head once, happy with his newfound resolution. As he turned his head to face his commander, he noticed that he was still on his knees.

"On your feet, my commander," he smiled thinly. "I need to ask you something."

Desraa, newfound fear on his features, rose up, noticing Malafron's unnerving smile. To think that such a young dragon could emanate so much evil…

"Tell me, Desraa," he began, "How many fighting warriors are in the village of Avalar?"

"I… I do not know, my lord," Desraa stuttered. "It has been many years since I was banished from that place. Much has probably changed since then."

Malafron tapped his claws on the rocky plateau on which he stood. All his anger apparently gone, he smiled a bit wider, showing his small but very sharp teeth.

"Ah, I see." His eye twinkled in the torchlight. "No matter, then." He stretched his wings, and then carried on. "What is a force of five hundred to the Cheetahs of Avalar?"

Desraa's eyes widened. Quickly, he voiced his opinion.

"My lord… surely we could beat them with a force of only one hundred!"

Malafron grinned wickedly, his white teeth gleaming.

"I do not want them beaten. Oh no, Desraa. I want them _broken._"

These words caused the hairs on the back of Desraa's neck to prickle, which sent a shiver down his spine. Malafron was planning a massacre.

The purple dragon watched as Desraa's face lit up with surprise. Pausing for dramatic effect, Malafron then uttered, "…and you, my commander, will lead them to Avalar to carry out the attack."

Desraa, upon hearing this, staggered backward. "But… but, milord…Surely you could get a more able commander to…"

"Silence, Desraa!" Malafron hissed. "You know the land better than any of my other commanders. After all, I did find you wandering the plains…"

Desraa thought that it would be wise to stay silent. Keeping his eyes aimed at the young dragon on the rock, he listened.

"Now, now, I understand that you might have mixed feelings about going back there," said Malafron, mockingly, "But won't it be nice to see all of the people that banished you again, with a force of five hundred at your back?" He grinned wickedly.

Not daring to argue with Malafron, Desraa could only nod his head. Malafron gave an arrogant smirk.

"Leave within one day's time, my commander." He paused, closing his eyes in relish. "Bring with you a force of five hundred. March upon the Cheetah Village."

Seeing that there was no other option but to do Malafron's bidding, Desraa decided that there was no use in trying to argue with his master. He bowed low, saying in the most reverent voice he could muster, "As you wish, milord. It shall be done."

"Good, very good." Malafron appeared satisfied. Desraa stopped bowing and got up, turning around and heading for the entrance. Desraa waited until the door had completely opened before taking another step forward. However, as he began to walk away, he heard Malafron shout out from behind him, "Oh, and Desraa?"

Turning back around, Desraa replied, "Yes, milord?"

"Remember… leave none alive." His voice was cold, heartless.

"Y-yes, milord. As you wish."

Desraa stepped through the doorway, making his way down the length of the cave, vanishing from sight as the door slowly closed behind him.

…

Hunter awoke to the heat of the sunlight on his face.

Groggily, the cheetah stretched his arms above his head, his fists brushing against the bark of the tree he was propped up against. He slowly got up from his sitting position, feeling the tingly sensation of the circulation coming back to his legs as he stood up. Hunter wiped the sleep from his eyes with his paws, and slung his bow and quiver of arrows around his shoulder. He sauntered over to the village, the thatched roofs of the huts peeking up over the top of the wooden wall. Hunter could hear the sound of feet pitter pattering on the other side of the wall faintly, and frowned. He usually got up before everybody else.

Inside the village, Meadow saw Hunter out of the corner of his eye, walking slowly in his direction. He waved to the other cheetah, smiling.

"Good morning, Hunter. Tired from the battle last night?" He inquired in a good natured voice. Hunter said nothing, only nodding his head wearily.

"Yes, I am." He looked down at the ground, not moving toward anything in particular as he passed by. As Hunter walked, Meadow saw a small limp in Hunter's left leg. Concerned, he called out, "Your leg okay there, Hunter?"

Hearing Meadow, Hunter looked down at his leg, replying absentmindedly, "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. I'm just a little sore from last night." He stiffened his leg, wincing slightly as sharp pain lanced up his body. Even though it hurt, he kept his leg straightened out with each step, trying not to focus on the pain. Meadow saw him wince, but said nothing more.

"Okay," he said, "I'll see you later, Hunter."

He waited for a few seconds, but heard no reply. Perplexed by Hunter's strange behavior, he walked away, muttering, "That Hunter's a strange fellow, for sure."

Hunter could still see the archer, crouching in front of him, bow in hand. He could still feel the air tickle the fur on the side of his face as the arrow zipped by his head, piercing the flesh of the giant ogre behind him. And worst of all, he could still see the bright red eyes of the archer peering into his own, his childlike voice haunting him like a pale white specter in the night.

Who was he? Why had he saved his life, only to disappear the moment Hunter had looked away?

Hunter looked around him, until he saw Chief Prowlus only a few paces away. He said in a loud voice, "Good morning, Chief."

Prowlus turned slowly, a look of mock surprise on his face. "Goodness, Hunter. I thought you would never wake up. Did you sleep well?"

"Sure did." Hunter lied. He quickly cut to the chase. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to leave for a day or two."

"Leaving?" Prowlus sounded surprised. "What for?"

"Nothing. It's just been awhile since I've been alone," he stated lamely. Prowlus furrowed his brow, appearing skeptical.

"Um… well, alright then." Prowlus patted Hunter's shoulder. "Are you sure there's no other reason?"

"I'm sure." Hunter retorted. "I just want to be alone for awhile."

Both cheetahs stood there, facing each other for a second before Hunter broke eye contact, walking away, mumbling a quick farewell to Prowlus. The Chief watched Hunter as he walked away, a worried look on his face. However, he soon stopped worrying, saying to himself, "Bah. That's just the way Hunter is. He'll be fine."

The cloaked figure faded off in the distance, towards the rising sun.

Hunter was on a quest to find the archer.

…

**Author's Note: Sorry if the ending of the chapter seemed a bit rushed. I just REALLY wanted to get this thing updated. That's probably why this chapter is so short, too. **

**So, is my story still capturing your interest? Do things not make sense? If so, they will make sense soon. I promise. :3**


	6. A Long Day for Hunter

The sun rose high in the sky as Hunter trekked over the grassy earth, his bow in hand, his pace a slow canter. The pads of his paws pressed against the soil, still damp from the previous rain, leaving shallow footprints behind him. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his face as the sun beat down on him.

He had been traveling for over an hour now, and he showed no signs of slowing down. Hunter shielded his eyes from the sun, looking out in front of him, shielding his eyes from the sun with his free hand. He scanned the valley, concentrating on a small dot in the flat plain off in the distance. As he walked, the tiny spot seemed to grow larger and larger.

Hunter had sighted the campsite.

As he grew closer, the outline of tents was clearly visible. It was hard to believe that only the night before he had been creeping through the grass at this same spot, watching the same campsite that was lying in front of him now.

The grass was getting taller now. Hunter, still being cautious, began to creep through the grass, looking for any enemies that might still be lurking about. Seeing that nobody was there, he walked forward with much less caution, scanning the campsite with his light blue eyes.

He searched for the fallen figure of the freakish creature that had attacked him the previous night. He looked left and right, wrinkling his nose at the smell of rotting bodies that had just began to decompose. The further the gap closed between him and the campsite, the stronger the smell became. Finally, he could no longer take the sickly sweet smell that invaded his nostrils. He pulled his shirt up and over his nose, breathing air through his shirt. However, the stench still came through, causing Hunter to feel light headed. Desperate to be rid of the odor, he pulled his shirt even further up his chest, bunching it up over his nose. Sighing into his shirt, he felt relieved as the smell ceased.

Looking off into the distance, he could see a green lump in the middle of a group of tents, nearby an extinguished campfire. Knowing that this was the same campfire as the one last night, he realized that this green lump must be the beast that had attacked him last night. He walked through the camp at a slow, steady pace, careful not to let his shirt fall down. His paw stepped into a bit of spattered blood, feeling the sticky substance on his paw pads. Ignoring it, he moved kept stepping forward, seeing the dozens of dead grublins and other creatures lying around him, arrows embedded in their bodies, awful wounds from both spear and sword evident on their grotesque bodies. He stepped over many, careful not to tread on any of the swords and spears that were still lying on the grass.

Sure enough, there the ogre lie, face down in the soggy soil. Hunter looked it over, inspecting it closely. Disappointed, he saw that what he was looking for was not on the monster. However, realization dawned on him, and he stepped on the body with his right foot, grunting as he pushed on the body, moving it slightly, but not enough to flip it over.

Hunter groaned underneath his shirt. He was going to have to remove his improvised breathing mask in order to roll the body over.

He took a deep breath, and lowered the shirt. Almost instantly, he kneeled down, placing the balls of his feet firmly onto the ground, pushing with both hands on the underside of the heap of flesh. After much exertion, he managed to roll the body over. Without thinking, Hunter blew out all of the air he had been holding in, only to experience the full power of the stink of the dead body in front of him. Gagging, he quickly raised his shirt again, bunching it up over his snout, ridding himself of the scent of death.

He looked the body over again, his gaze coming to rest on the battered feather flight of the arrow that protruded from the creature's chest. Hunter stamped down on the body of the ogre, grabbing the flight and tugging on it hard, still holding his shirt with his other hand.

Upon entry, the muscle of the hulking beast had tightened around the shaft, making it impossible to remove by pulling. Hunter soon realized this, letting go of the arrow, his chest rising in falling with quick breaths. Shaking his head, he reached down, sliding the knife out of the built in sheath in his boot. Taking another deep breath, he held it in his lungs, letting go of the damp collar of his shirt.

He stuck the knife into the tiny slit between the skin and the arrow, trying to pry it out with it. It moved, but did not come out. Still holding his breath, hunter grabbed the flight of the arrow with his left hand as he worked with his right. As he used the knife, he could see disgusting looking clear liquid begin to leak out of the wound, sticky and greenish in color. Hunter tried not to vomit as he stuck the thin blade of the knife deeper in, making small cutting motions as he did so. Suddenly, he felt the arrow move. He began to wiggle it, turning his head away from the disgusting thing he was doing. He felt the arrow loosen even more. His lungs fit to burst, he heaved, pulling with all his might as he used the knife to pry it out. He could not help but let the air escape form his lungs in a mighty yell as he yanked the arrow free from the wound, causing him to stumble backward and fall to the ground.

Gasping, Hunter quickly placed his nose under the shirt, but not before he got another whiff of the foulest stench he had ever experienced in his entire life. He had smelled rotting bodies before, but this far surpassed anything he had ever been through previously. He nearly threw up, but somehow managed to control himself.

He held the arrow in front of his eyes, wiping the disgusting grime away from the tip. As he did this, he noticed that the tip was not metal, but a very sharp flint. The only type of arrows used by the attackers the night before were metal tipped. Not only this, but the arrowhead was tied to the shaft with what looked to be animal sinew, thinner than any thread, but twice as strong. Not only this, but the arrow was much shorter than the average longbow arrow used by the cheetahs of Avalar.

One thing was for certain; this arrow did not belong to anybody in the village of Avalar. So, then, who on earth could it be?

As Hunter turned his head around, he found a small gap in between two of the tents that looked familiar…

Recognition dawned on Hunter, and his eyebrows rose with surprise. This was the spot where the archer had been!

Without waiting for a moment, the cheetah warrior trotted over to the spot, looking at the damp soil for any tracks. Sure enough, there they were; two paw prints in the damp earth, the claws facing the campfire. Taking another step, he saw a thin, clearly defined path between the tents, with prints spaced far apart in a line going down it. Hunter followed the trail left by the archer, slowly at first, then more quickly until he was at a jogging pace. He still kept the shirt tucked over his nose as he looked at the ground beneath him, seeing pawprint after pawprint after pawprint…

He looked up, only to see that he had walked out into the middle of an open field. His shoulders sagged, an annoyed grunt escaping from between his lips.

"He left the campsite," he stated to himself. Looking at the last clear print in front of him, he discerned which way the claws were facing. Getting down in both knees, he used his finger to trace a straight line from the middle claw to the horizon. However, the tip of his claw came to rest on the base of a huge, forested hill, a good hour away. Seeing his destination, he started forward, making his way slowly but surely to the hill in front of him.

…

The sun was now in Hunter's eyes, the golden yellow orb now lowering in the sky, perching just above the crest of the tall hill. The tall stalks of wild grass were beginning to annoy Hunter as they rubbed against his legs, tickling him. He was also getting very thirsty. To make things worse, he had brought only a single canteen of water, which was only half full at the moment. Sweat trickled into his eyes, causing a burning sting that he could not ignore.

"Damn it." He stopped mid-step to rub his eyes. When the burning had subsided, he opened his eyes again, looking ahead to the mountainous hill. He was only minutes away from reaching it, much to Hunter's relief. All he wanted to do now was get out of this field and into the shade. It also occurred to Hunter that there was a river in this region, the very same one that ran through the area near the cheetah village. Perhaps he could get some water there…

The height of the grass gradually decreased until it was barely up to the middle of Hunter's shin. A fly buzzed past the cloaked cheetah, and he swiped at it as it went near his eyes. This one was soon followed by two more. Hunter remembered the old adage, "Where there's bugs, there's water," and walked into the trees.

Unfortunately, not a minute had gone by until he began to step in marshy ground, flooded because of the rains of previous days. Bugs attacked him, landing on his face and legs. Smacking at them furiously, he danced a jig out of the marsh, the forest rejecting his desire for water.

Despite this setback, Hunter backtracked and found a way around the hellhole of bugs and mud. Soon, he began to hear the faint sound of running water. His tongue felt like paper. Unable to resist, he popped the lid on his canteen and took a long gulp.

Lucky for Hunter, he didn't have to wait for long. He soon encountered water in the form of a violent rapid. Knowing it would be stupidity trying to refill his water supply here, he made his way down the incline beside the tumbling torrent of water.

He reached a calmer area of the stream, the white water turning into a clear, babbling brook. This was the perfect place, because a stagnant body of water almost always meant a fresh supply of dirt and mosquito eggs. He uncapped his canteen again, but did not fill it until he had taken a taste from his cupped hand. Seeing that it was clean, he filled his container with it, screwed the lid on, and fastened it to his belt. Trying to get as much out of the water source as he could, he took many cupped handfuls of it, slurping it greedily.

All of a sudden, Hunter stopped drinking and splashing his sweaty face with the water. He kept very still, his ears twitching involuntarily. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled…

Someone was there.

Slowly sliding the knife out of its sheath in his boot, he gripped it firmly, making the movement as indistinguishable as he could to whoever was behind him. His heart raced, his muscles tensed, and his pupils dilated as he listened. Finally, he spoke out.

"Whoever you are, show yourself." He kept his voice calm, though he was tense as a coiled spring. He slid the knife into the sleeve of his cloak. "I know you're there."

As soon as he had said this, he could distinctly hear a peculiar sound, nearly inaudible, coming from the trees to his left. His heart went into his throat as years of experience as a bowman told him that this was the sound of an arrow sliding against the wood of a bow.

He whirled around to face his foe.

…

**Author's Note: Aw, what's the matter? Don't like cliffhangers? :P **

**Again, I am dreadfully sorry for taking such a long time to write yet another ridiculously short chapter. I wish there was a way to make it up to anybody reading this, but with fencing, Tae Kwon Do, and homework, I don't have much free time to write. Sorry. DX**

**Next chapter coming in the future! **


	7. The Cabin

Another cheetah, a light, brown cloak draped over his shoulders, clutched a wooden longbow in his right hand. Hunter's eyes became fixed upon the tip of the arrow, aimed right at his fast beating heart. His assailant looked him over, studying him.

"Don't shoot." He said as calmly as he could muster. Hunter wisely raised his hands in the air, slowly but steadily placing them on top of his head, avoiding any sudden movements that would cause the red eyed cheetah to send the arrow into his chest.

"Get down on your knees, now!" The archer paced toward him, eyeing Hunter warily. Hunter kept his eyes on the advancing cheetah, ready to react if the arrow was fired at him. The young archer's arm began to shake a bit, strained with the exertion it took to keep the arrow pulled back on the bowstring for so long. Finally, the other cheetah broke the awkward silence.

"Who're you?" He spat angrily. He took two more steps toward Hunter, keeping his aim on Hunter, who was getting on his knees. "What're you doin' here?"

"I'm just traveling through." He lied. He dearly hoped that the archer wouldn't recognize him…

"Yer a damn liar. Where are your traveling supplies, huh?" He got even closer, sneering. Hunter sank, knowing that he had been caught lying. He gulped.

"Put your bow on the ground." He stopped his advance. "And no tricks. I'll put an arrow in ya!"

Hunter complied, taking the bow off of his back with his left hand, keeping the dagger in the sleeve of his right arm pressed against his wrist.

"I'll ask you again," he said in a menacing tone, "Why are you here in my woods?"

Despite his predicament, Hunter scoffed slightly. "Your woods? Last time I checked, these woods didn't belong to anyone."

The young cheetah grew very angry at this reply, curling his lip into a sneer. He hesitated before speaking.

"These woods do _too _belong to me. I've got a house in these parts, and this here's my land. And you're trespassing on it." He made his voice deeper as he said this, trying to make himself seem older than he was. Hunter suppressed a smile as he noticed this.

"You… have a house? But you're only a child." Seconds afterwards he regretted speaking this, knowing that he was only antagonizing the archer further with each comment he made. This quick retort infuriated the red eyed figure, but he stopped himself from firing the arrow in anger. As he looked Hunter over, he suddenly recognized the face of the intruder, his eyes widening for a moment. Upon realizing who he was, the adolescent smiled.

"Only a child, huh? Ha, well this _child_ saved your life last night!" He said stingingly.

This comment caused Hunter to grow very worried, knowing for sure that he had been recognized. And, to make matters worse, he also knew that the young figure was right. Even though he was still quite young, it was because of him that Hunter was still alive and breathing. His already dry mouth now felt like cotton.

"Now," He took two steps forward as he spoke, "I think you should get out of here. That is, unless you want me to send this arrow into your lying, filthy hide." He said coldly.

As he looked to the ground in front of him, Hunter realized he had been defeated. He had been caught unawares, and according to the archer, he was trespassing as well. And it certainly didn't help that he had insulted this stranger, either. In fact, it was a wonder that he hadn't already been shot. Without making any sudden movements, he got up from his kneel, still keeping his hands on his head. Just as he was about to reach for his bow, the archer motioned toward the ground with a quick nod of his head.

"No. You leave that here. Put your quiver on the ground, too," he said with a toothy smile of triumph.

Hunter froze, steam almost visibly coming out of his ears. It was at this point when Hunter wished he could wrap his hands around that little brat's throat. Not only had he been humiliated by someone much younger than himself, but now he had to leave the place unarmed. He had never felt so angry in all his life. Nonetheless, he did what the archer commanded. He looked at his quiver of arrows, lying on the ground beside his longbow. The cloaked cheetah couldn't bear to leave them there, but he had no choice. He glowered at his tormentor. Oh, how he wanted to kill that impudent little whelp…

"Move yourself. Go back to where you came from, old man." He stepped toward Hunter. "And I better not see you around here again, you here me?" His voice cracked as it rose in pitch, but he made an effort to hide it by hastily repeating, "Do you hear me?"

Hunter nodded. The young bowman jerked his head in the direction where the now unarmed cheetah had come from.

"Run along, now." He said mockingly. Hunter glanced one more time at his bow and arrows on the dirt before he took several backward paces, keeping his eyes on the arrow that was still pointing at him accusingly.

"Run." The archer commanded. And Hunter did just that; he turned tail and ran back up the river, half expecting the arrow to enter his back. Only moments after he had started to flee, he disappeared from view, the sound of the steady thudding of his paws hitting the ground beginning to fade away. The archer relaxed his bowstring; still examining the woods, making sure the other cheetah wasn't pulling any tricks. He stooped down, picked up the bow and quiver, and slung the bow over his back. He picked up the quiver of arrows by the leather strap, and scurried away in the opposite direction that Hunter had gone, his cloak making him a part of the environment as he vanished into the forest.

…

Hunter could not believe his misfortune. He had been caught unawares, humiliated, robbed, and insulted by someone only half his age. It was inconceivable to him how he could have been so irresponsible as to let this happen.

He had stopped running a long way back, stomping through the trees, smacking the vines and twigs aside. He was constantly glancing behind him, making sure he was not being followed. Satisfied that he wasn't, he kept on, taking out some of his frustration on the foliage in his way. He had also stuck his knife into the sheath in his boot, hardly grateful that he had at least one weapon left on him.

There was no way that child was going to get away with this, Hunter thought. The cheetah would look like a fool if he returned without his trusty longbow in hand.

Without warning, he stopped dead in his tracks, gazing through the leaves of the many trees to notice the sky was turning pink.

The sun was already setting, and nighttime was sure to be here in less than an hour. As a result, Hunter began to plan ahead, taking a seat on the ground. He turned to face the direction of the river, keeping watch over the forest, seeking his foe, but he did not find him. Hunter waited for the night, his fingers nervously toying with the hilt of the knife in his boot.

Finally, the sun set below the horizon, leaving behind a pale pink sky that began to morph into black.

This was what Hunter had been waiting for. He whipped out the dagger from his boot, and rose into a crouch. He snuck off into the nighttime woods, making as little noise as he could.

He was going to get his bow and arrows back.

…

Meadow stirred the rabbit stew over the fire, savoring the delectable aroma as it wafted upward. He tossed in a pawfull of salt and pepper, stirring it slowly to make the natural flavors come out. It had been awhile since he had a meal like this, and his mouth watered with anticipation. He called out to Prowlus.

"It's almost ready!" He took out a small spoon from his shirt pocket and dipped it into the soup. He brought it too his lips, blowing on it to cool it down before taking a taste. He licked his lips, and put the spoon back in his shirt pocket.

"It's still got a little while to go," he told himself. He stopped stirring it, leaving the ingredients to simmer. More and more began to join him around the pot, waiting for the delicious meal to be ready, many with bowls in hand. He smiled as Prowlus walked up to join him, his eyes focused on the stew.

"Is…is it ready now?" he stuttered. Meadow noticed the longing expression on the chief's face and chuckled.

"Yes, it's ready, I suppose." He stood up, cupping his hands over his mouth and shouting, "Come and get it!"

Almost immediately, everybody in the area rose up at once, scurrying over to the bubbling cauldron, jostling each other in a scramble to be the first in line. Prowlus hastily restored order, stepping between Meadow and the crowd of approaching villagers.

"One at a time, please!" He made a motion with his hands as if he were clapping slowly. "Now, everybody get in a single file line. You'll all get some of Meadow's famous rabbit stew, don't you worry."

The Avalarians did what their chief asked of them, moving into a line, although it was not quite single file. Prowlus stepped aside, satisfied.

"Go on ahead, Meadow." He walked off to the back of the line. Meadow breathed a sigh of relief, and started ladling the stew into the bowls of the eager cheetahs in front of him, happy that he was not being mobbed by the hungry crowd.

It took him only five minutes to serve everybody in the village, including Prowlus. He took a bowl for himself, stealing an extra half ladle of the delicious stew before seating himself next to the chief. He turned to Prowlus, who was shoveling spoonfuls of the stew into his mouth. He grinned.

"Is it good?" he asked, knowing what the answer was going to be.

"Amazing." He shook his head with admiration. "You've always had a knack for cooking, haven't you?"

Meadow shrugged. "I suppose so. Although it was Hunter who set the traps that caught the rabbits in the first place." He frowned, looking away from the village, off into the valley. "Speaking of him, I haven't seen the rogue anywhere since this morning. Do you know where he is?"

Prowlus nodded, wiping away a drop of broth from his chin. "He decided to go on a little trip of sorts. Said he wanted to be alone for awhile." He took another spoonful of broth and slurped it up.

"Well... it's a shame he had to miss tonight's meal." He stopped and thought for a moment before continuing, "Although, it is strange that he decided to leave so unexpectedly. I hope he's alright."

"I'm sure Hunter's fine. He's disappeared for much longer, you know." He said, remembering the time when Hunter had been recruited by the guardians to find Spyro and Cynder. "A day or two in the woods is nothing compared to surviving three years by himself. He'll be fine." He glanced at Meadow's still full bowl of rabbit stew. Changing the subject, he pointed to it, asking, "Well, are you gonna eat that or not? Cause I can finish it if you don't want it." He smiled.

Meadow found himself smiling back at the chief, deciding that it would be best to stop talking and start eating. He was glad to finally taste his own creation, enjoying the hearty flavor of the vegetables and tender rabbit mixed together.

Prowlus was right, he thought. Hunter was perfectly fine.

…

Unfortunately, Hunter could not have felt more at risk.

He padded through the forest, using the sound of the trickling river as a guide in the near complete darkness. He was lucky to have such sharp eyesight, or else he would be walking blind. Despite his many years of experience in survival, he was still very nervous, not knowing if the archer was watching him or not. He quickly dismissed this possibility however, knowing that if he couldn't see much of anything, than neither could his enemy.

He listened to the sounds of the night, hearing nothing else but the symphony of crickets, the trickling of the river, and the croaking of frogs by the riverbank. With each step he took, he gradually pressed the pads of his footpaws into the dirt, but not before feeling for dry twigs and leaves that could give him away. He tried not to make any noise as he walked, but every so often he heard the distinctive crack of a stick underpaw. And each time he braced himself, waiting for an arrow to come whistling through the trees at him.

Hunter kept this terribly slow pace for hours until his leg muscles cried out in pain, strained from the constant stress of his crouching position. Eventually, he could no longer ignore the pain and stood up for only a few seconds, shaking the circulation back into his legs before ducking back down.

As he crawled behind a small bed of what felt like ferns, his stomach rumbled. He clutched it, suddenly realizing that he hadn't eaten all day. Almost right away after learning this fact, he missed being back at the village. They would be sitting around a warm fire now, talking amongst themselves as they ate dinner. The more Hunter thought about it dinner, the hungrier he felt. He also recalled Meadow saying that he was making some of his famous stew out of the rabbits Hunter had caught in the traps he had set up around the village. He could envision the boiling cauldron of stew hanging over an open fire, the lovely aroma as it dropped into his bowl. He could taste the savory broth, the onions, the carrots, and the tender meat of the rabbit blended with an assortment of spices…

_Wuuuuuurrrrrrp!_

Hunter grabbed his stomach, feeling the intense hunger pangs as they vibrated his entire abdomen. Brushing a fly off of his face, he wisely decided to banish food from his train of thought and focus on what he was doing at the moment.

Another grueling hour passed by until Hunter saw a tiny glowing light through the forest. Making sure he wasn't imagining things, he stared at it for a few seconds. He was pleased to know he wasn't going insane, and that the light was indeed real.

Hunter crept off toward the light, being more careful than ever not to be spotted or heard.

…

Many hours beforehand, the archer had arrived upon a little wooden cabin, his own bow and arrows as well as Hunter's in his arms. He entered through the front door and dropped the bow and arrows onto the creaky wooden floorboards, causing a little cloud of dust to poof up around the objects. As he did this He looked out the window, noticing that the sun had almost set. He had arrived at his little home just in time. It was nearly impossible to see anything in this forest with the tiny sliver of moon in the sky.

He moved around a small dinner table placed in the middle of the room and plopped down onto a little wooden chair beside a fireplace, tired from the long day. He thought of all the things he had accomplished throughout the day as he relaxed. Firstly, the young cheetah had managed to pick enough blackberries, a rare treat, from up the mountain to fill up a small, metal pail he had found in the cabinets. He had also managed to bag a quail he had shot, which meant another meal for the next day. And, to put icing on the cake, he had managed to acquire what looked to be a very well crafted longbow from the trespasser, which appeared to be far superior to his own.

Wanting to inspect it more closely, he got up from his chair and moved over to the longbow, picking it up and hefting it, feeling its weight. He held it out straight with his left arm and pulled back on the string with his right, grunting with exertion as he bent the bow. He held it for a second before relaxing the bowstring. It was much harder to pull back then his bow, but that also meant that it had far more power. With practice, he could master this bow and use it for hunting. Not only this, but he had also managed to nab some arrows from the traveler. When he drew a shaft out of the quiver, he noticed that the flights were made of a different type of feather, much larger and better fastened to the wood of the arrow. The shaft itself was perfectly straight, and the tip was iron, not flint.

Then, after examining his prizes, he looked down at his own bow and arrows, which he had dropped down beside the chair. The more he looked at the so called "traveler's" weapons, the less fond he grew of his own. He fiddled with the bowstring of the new longbow, and then plucked one of Hunter's arrows out of the quiver, fixing it to the string. He tested its pull, placing it horizontally over his lap.

One thing was for certain; the lying stranger sure did have a good bow. In fact, he was now very glad he had been tracked by the cloaked cheetah. Otherwise, he would be stuck with his old antique of a bow.

_Speaking of the traveler,_ he thought. He would have to watch his back for the next few days. He might want his bow back.

This thought caused him to look out the window, as if expecting to see the stranger emerge from the woods. As soon as he did this, he laughed at himself for his foolishness. Nobody would be stupid enough to try to navigate this forest at night.

It soon became very dark inside the dusty little cabin, so the archer decided to light a candle for a bit of light. Soon afterward, he grew very sleepy, his eyelids drooping, his head rolling back onto the top of the chair. He tried to stay awake, but failed, letting his eyelids slide shut, forgetting to extinguish the candle, which flickered in full view of the small window.

…

Hunter nearly ran straight into the wall of the cottage.

It took him the greater half of a minute to realize the light he had seen was a candle through the window of this little house, which meant…

The archer was here.

Hunter licked his lips nervously. This was what he had been waiting for.

He felt the wooden walls of the cabin with his left paw while keeping the knife in his right, careful not to tap the wood too hard to alert his enemy. He chanced a very quick glance through the window before ducking down, but saw nobody inside the house. Perhaps the archer wasn't here…

No, that was impossible. It would be foolishness to leave a candle lit inside a wooden house without having someone around to watch it. Besides, someone had to be around to light the candle.

He felt the end of the wall house his paw coming to rest on the corner of the house. He began to walk alongside this new wall, and noticing the little crescent moon high in the sky, surrounded by an array of stars. There was also a clearing in the forest of trees off to the side of the house, which appeared to be a place for farming. Rows of plants filled a square area near the middle of the clearing. Hunter searched the garden with his eyes, but didn't find anybody. He snuck around to front of the house, gripping the knife tightly. He pressed up against the wall next to the door, listening. He heard no movement from the other side of the door. He placed his paw onto the little brass knob, turning it slowly until he heard a click.

He opened the door a crack, peering inside, keeping his breathing and heartbeat under control.

He opened it further, further, further…

There the young cheetah was, sitting on a chair, asleep with Hunter's bow in hand, and an arrow notched to the string.

Hunter's blood ran cold. For a moment, he thought the archer was awake, but the sound of his gentle snoring told him otherwise. He could not afford to sigh with relief as he stepped into the cabin, hoping dearly that he would not awake his enemy.

He made two steps around the table, making himself ready just in case he awoke that he would have his knife ready. He looked at the paw that grasped the middle of his bow. It was very tight. Hunter would have cursed if he wasn't trying to be so quiet.

His paw was centimeters away from the longbow. He reached out…

_Wuuuuuuuurrrrrp!_

His stomach growled, even louder than before. He froze, his knife hand twitching.

The archer stirred, and his eyes flickered open.

…

**Author's Note: I think it's time to accept that I'm going to update this story slowly every time. Business is not kind to writers. DX**

**Oh noes! A cliffhanger! Guess you'll have to wait until then next chapter to find out what happens next! And don't worry, if this story hasn't really seemed to pick up yet, just you wait. Hopefully, you won't have to wait much longer. **

**And please, if you see an error or something, tell me in a PM or a review. I'm still trying to improve my writing, ya know! **


	8. Korrow

Hunter had been discovered. Reacting in a flash, he pushed the archer against the wall with the bow and put the edge of the knife against the still half asleep cheetah's neck.

"Don't move." He whispered. He watched the eyes of the other cheetah expand, his eyes wide with fright. He felt the cold steel of the knife against the skin of his neck, and he made the wise choice not to speak. Hunter stared him in the eyes, saying calmly and quietly, "Let go of the bow._" _

He felt the archer's paw loosen its grip, but it did not come off. Hunter sneered, and said icily, "_Now._"

The young cheetah let go of the bow. Hunter smiled.

"Good boy." Now it was his turn to be mocking toward the young cheetah. He still remembered the "old man" comment from their encounter at the river. It felt good to get a little payback, but that was not what he came here for. Keeping the knife where it was, he placed the bow onto his back with his left hand. He leaned close in until their faces were almost touching. Fear was evident on the young one's face. He spoke, quietly and clearly.

"I'm going to take what belongs to me, now. If you leave me alone I will not harm you." He jumped back, bringing his knife up, holding it in a fighting stance as he backed away. His gaze moved around the room, searching for the quiver of arrows. It took him a moment to realize that the quiver was beside the chair. He took a cautious step forward…

But the archer did something unexpected. He whipped his hand down, grabbing the leather strap of the quiver. Hunter had little time to react as he swung the quiver at the hand which held the knife.

He felt the sharp pain as it collided with his knuckles, knocking his hand aside. The quiver bashed into the wall, sending the arrows all over the wooden floor. With a loud yell, he swung it again at Hunter's head. The older cheetah ducked down, feeling the whoosh of air ruffle the fur of his neck. Seeing that his attacker was open, Hunter sprang forward, bringing the pommel of the knife crashing down onto the archer's skull.

The young cheetah saw stars, the force of the blow sending him reeling. Before he could do anything further, Hunter's fist slammed into his jaw.

Hunter watched as the archer crumpled to the floor, his eyes rolling back into his head, and the leather strap of the quiver sliding from his grasp. Hunter acted quickly, stooping down to pick up the quiver of arrows. He noticed that several arrows had been knocked out of the cylinder, and he picked them up on by one, careful not to prick his fingers on the sharp, iron tips. As he did this, he looked over to the unconscious heap on the floorboards. He whispered to himself, "He'll be fine."

Yet, as he donned his hood and slung the quiver onto his back, he found himself looking back at the unconscious heap that lay next to the table, and he felt guilty just leaving him there. For all he knew, the cheetah could have suffered severe head trauma. He had hit him very hard, after all.

Even so, another part of him protested. _He'll be fine, damn it. Just leave him there. He'll wake up feeling like a rose. _

For a moment, he almost gave in. But something deep within told him it was not right to leave him here like this. He stood in the doorway, deciding…

He walked back into the house, shutting the door behind him.

…

The wind blew over the tall grass of the field beneath Spyro and Cynder, appearing like a green ocean. The sky was clear, save for the few passing clouds. His purple scales consumed the sunlight, giving him a steady supply of pure energy. He turned to look at Cynder, who was flying right beside him. He smiled.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she asked him, almost absentmindedly. He nodded.

"Yes, it is. But it's still no comparison to you, Cynder." He grinned. She blushed, obviously enjoying the comment.

In the distance, on a hilltop near the beautiful blue surface of the water, was a line of black dots, surrounded by a thin, light brown line. He knew exactly what this landmark was.

"The Cheetah Village," he uttered in a low whisper. He shifted the position of his outstretched wings until they were on course to land nearby the village. He turned his head to Cynder, asking, "How about we make a little visit to the Cheetah Village, Cynder?"

"Sure. It would be nice to see them again." She agreed, changing course as well.

As they got closer, Spyro noticed something odd. He could distinctly see thin wisps of smoke rising from the structures. Feeling a knot in the pit of his stomach, he asked Cynder, without looking at her.

"Do you see that?" He asked, fear evident on his tone of voice. Strangely, she didn't reply, but kept looking straight forward. He furled his brow.

"Cynder?"

Again, there was no response. She didn't even seem to hear him. There was a blank expression on her face, her emerald eyes devoid of any reality. Spyro felt worried, not knowing if something was wrong or not.

They landed right outside of the village, the smell of smoke lingering in the air. Cynder landed alongside him. Anxious to figure out what happened here, Spyro ran around the fence of the village, noticing the burn marks all over it. He ran into the village…

Charred buildings, the thatch and wood of the little houses burned to ashes, were all that remained of the village. The fence on the east side of the village had been completely knocked and burned down. The smell of smoke mingled with another smell…

The sickly sweet odor of dead bodies.

The glazed eyes of dozens of Avalarians stared at Spyro, their bodies hewn over the landscape, the heads, legs, and arms of the massacred villagers scattered over the dirt. Pools of blood dyed the soil crimson, its metallic smell mixing with all of the other foul odors in the atmosphere. Spyro gasped, choking on the foul air, shock plastered on his features. Tears flowed down his face like rivers, the tone of his voice rising to a shriek.

"No! _No!_"

He collapsed, unable to fathom the destruction before him. He glanced at Cynder, infuriated as she continued looking straight ahead, not even noticing the carnage around her. Spyro screamed at the top of his lungs.

"Damn it, Cynder! _Wake up!_" Tears blurred his vision.

He watched as a black drop of liquid fell off of her. In seconds, it was followed by several more. Her body began to lose its shape, melting away into the ground, forming a pool of black fluid that dribbled down the hill. Spyro could only look in horror, sobs racking his entire body.

The smoke began to change color rapidly, transforming from white back to dark black. He had no idea what was going on until flames materialized out of the wreckage, racing across the bloody terrain. He tried to run, but the wall of inferno surrounded him, closing in on him. Desperate to escape, he flapped his wings, hovering straight upwards, feeling the unbearable heat of the fire sear his purple scales. Finally, the flames began to lick at his body, baking him alive. He cried out, completely devoured by the fire.

"Spyro, wake up! Spyro!"

Spyro's eyes came unglued, a scream tearing itself from his throat. His eyes darted left and right, his body shivering uncontrollably. Cynder's hands shook him soundly, her voice breaking through the cloud of Spyro's terror that was almost tangible in the confines of the bedroom. She flipped him over, seeing the panicked fear in his eyes. She smacked him across the face once, shouting, "Spyro, get a hold of yourself!"

Her hands held his head steady, stopping the shaking. She lowered her face until their noses were touching. Whispering, she felt his breathing start to slow down, although his pulse was still audible.

"It's going to be okay, Spyro. I'm here. I'm here," she repeated over and over again. "I'm here."

He blinked slowly. His eyes bore into hers, seeing the life that lay behind them. He was truly awake, finally free from the nightmare which held his mind captive. Finally, he understood what was going on. His breath tickled her snout, but she held fast, ignoring the slight discomfort. After laying there for quite some time, his spoke.

"C-Cynder? Are you okay?"

This question thoroughly worried Cynder. She shot back, exasperated, "Am I okay? You just had a seizure!"

Spyro looked confused. Cynder sighed. "Did you have another nightmare?"

The purple dragon nodded, his nose rubbing against hers. She got off of him, letting his head go. She sat back, waiting for her lover to get up. He rolled over, his wings flopping over haphazardly. He pushed himself up, feeling the floor underneath his forelegs. The blanket lay nearby, wrinkled and pushed away. He saw Cynder sitting there, and asked, "What happened?"

"You were yelling out in your sleep. I heard my name mentioned a few times. Then, you started rolling around in the bed. Your wing slapped me in the face. That's what really woke me up," she explained to him. "Then, you pulled the blanket off of me and rolled out of the bed. I went after you and tried to wake you up. It took me forever to get you out of whatever you were in." She looked very worried, and understandably so. Spyro looked back at her, mixed emotions washing over him. He felt bad that he had put her through all of that. It must have been very frightening. He looked at the ground.

"I did all of that?" He asked her tiredly. She nodded, relived that the whole episode seemed to be behind them. Nonetheless, she still wanted to get to the bottom of what happened. She began to question him, remaining calm.

"What were you dreaming about? Tell me about it." Her complexion looked normal, although there was a pleading tone in her voice. She leaned closer to him.

Spyro considered this, but just then, images of the village flashed in his vision, reminding him of the scene he had just witnessed. He vigorously shook his head. "Please, Cyn… no…"

This time, however, Cynder wouldn't take no for an answer. Her tail blade scratched into the cold, stone floor, etching a mark. She adopted a no-nonsense tone as she replied back.

"So are you saying that you don't want to tell me anything?" She cocked her head. Spyro heard the question and wasted no time in answering, his mind on the alert.

"No, no, not at all," he cringed. Fortunately, she heard the sincerity in his words, her tone becoming more sympathetic.

"Then why won't you tell me? Is something bothering you?" She made a move forward, placing her head underneath his chin, closing her eyes. "Does it have anything to do with me? Be honest."

"No."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it." Cynder rubbed her head up and down the length of his neck gently. "You know, nightmares happen because of stress or worry, most of the time."

Spyro listened to Cynder, half of him glad that she cared so much about him, and the other half wanting her to just leave him alone. He didn't want to share what he had dreamed about with her, or anybody for that matter. Yet still, he felt bad that he had caused her so much worry. In fact, the more he thought about it, the worse he felt about the whole thing. She had even wondered if something she did was the reason for his troubles.

He sat there, thinking while her head massaged his tensed neck muscles lovingly, as if trying to make up for something she did to hurt him. Finally, he made his decision.

"Um…Cynder?" He rested his head on hers, halting her movements. Her eyes opened.

"Yeah, Spyro?"

"I'll tell you."

Cynder looked pleased. She removed herself from his neck, scooting back, waiting expectantly. Spyro began to relay his dream to her, keeping his emotions under control.

"We were flying over a shallow valley. You and I were talking." He watched her as she nodded her head, listening. "I saw the Cheetah Village on the ground. I asked if you wanted to go there, and you said yes."

"Okay. Keep going." She encouraged him. He continued.

"We landed next to the village. I smelt smoke. I asked you if you smelled it too, but you didn't respond. You didn't even seem to hear me."

"I walked into the village. Everything... all of the buildings… it was all burned down. Somebody had destroyed the village. And there were dead bodies everywhere. Oh, ancestors, the dead villagers were everywhere!" He felt queasy as he recalled the sight. Cynder watched him, his head turned away from her. "There was so much blood, limbs scattered around the village like sticks! It was awful!"

Cynder noticed his pained expression, his teeth gritted together hard. Now she knew why he didn't want to talk about it. She tried to comfort him by placing her wing around him.

"I'm so sorry."

They stood like this for awhile, with Cynder's wing draped over his back. Spyro made no sound at all. A minute turned into ten minutes. After a long period of time, Cynder heard Spyro's voice.

"I'm sorry too, Cynder. I'm sorry for worrying you so much. I guess I just overreacted. I'm so sorry." He walked out from under her wing, looking her in the eyes.

"Don't worry about it," she replied. "Let's just forget you ever had this nightmare and go back to sleep."

He agreed with her wholeheartedly. "Good idea." He said, exhausted. He grabbed the blanket with his jaws, tossing it lackadaisically onto the mattress. He hopped on, waiting for Cynder to get in bed before pulling it over him. She surprised him, though, by leaping over the edge of the mattress and him, and landing like a cat on her side of the bed. Spyro flinched, chuckling as she plopped down next to him, pulling the corner of the blanket over herself.

"Good night, Spyro." The black dragoness didn't look back at him, yawning. Spyro chortled.

"Good night."

They fell asleep, Spyro's nightmare temporarily forgotten.

…

The archer lay in the same place as before, his head propped up by Hunter's cloak, which served as a makeshift pillow. Hunter sat in the chair he had pulled up next to the fireplace, turning a spit over the flames while occasionally glancing down at the still knocked out figure at his feet. He had checked the young one's pulse and breathing the night before, as well as inspected his head to make sure he hadn't been badly hurt. The pommel of Hunter's boot knife had left a mark on the top of the archer's head, but it wasn't too bad. Now, a lump the size of a golf ball resided where the knife had hit him. Hunter guessed that it would recede with time.

Hunter could smell the quail as it was cooking, roasting over the fireplace. Hunter had plucked the feathers from the bird the previous night to use it for breakfast for the two of them this morning. He hoped the archer wouldn't be too upset.

The sight of sunlight coming through the thin glass window was a welcome one. The sound of bluebirds and finches chirping to greet the new morning set Hunter at a state of peace. He slouched in the chair, waiting for the unconscious archer to finally awake from his slumber.

Another hour passed by until there was any sign of movement from the cheetah. Hunter couldn't be sure, but he thought he had seen the cheetah's eyes flicker open for a moment, and then close again. He stared, watching to see if it would happen again. Sure enough, his eyelids fluttered briefly, again, and again, and again…

His eyes opened.

He saw Hunter's face, framed in his field of vision. He sat on a small chair, his cloak no longer wrapped around his body.

Right away, he remembered what had happened. He bared his sharp teeth. Hunter smiled.

"Nice to see you're finally awake." He turned the spit using the wooden crank lever on the left side, noticing the juices as they dripped out onto the logs that fueled the fire. "Did you sleep well?"

Furious, the cheetah tried to sit up. However, his efforts were met by a dull pain that racked his head. He groaned loudly, falling back onto Hunter's cloak and placing his hand over his forehead. Hunter's voice penetrated into his aching head.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. You're gonna be sore for awhile yet." He watched the pained creature with amusement. The archer shot him a frosty glare from behind his hand.

"I don't need you to tell me what to do." He closed his eyes again, fighting the pain in his head. Hunter shook his head.

"You know, if you hadn't stolen my things and attacked me last night, you wouldn't be feeling like this right now," he stated. The archer growled.

"I wasn't stealing from you. You were trespassing."

Hunter shook his head a second time. "No, I was not. There is no way this tiny cabin in the woods could own that much land, and even if it could, there was nothing to define the limits of your property." He stopped, taking out his canteen as he licked his dry lips. As he drank, the archer sulked.

"Why were you tracking me, huh?" He changed the subject, not wanting to admit that his enemy was right. Hunter didn't comment on this fact, but instead answered his question.

"I saw you the night of the attack. You were the one who saved me from that ogre. I noticed that you weren't a part of the attack party. The next day, I tracked you to this forest. I was just curious to find out who you were. And besides, you did save my life, after all," he added in.

The archer did not make any reply. Awkward silence ensued. Hunter tried to keep the conversation alive by asking, "What's your name?"

"Huh. Like I'd tell you that. What business is that of yours?"

Hunter sighed. It was very hard to get through this young rebel's thick skull. Trying again, he stated simply, "I was only asking for your name. There's no need to get worked up over it. My name's Hunter. What's yours?" He sounded as friendly as he could manage.

But the archer wasn't backing down. He spat on the floor next to him, looking upon Hunter with the most disdainful look he could manage.

"I forget."

Hunter balled up his hand into a fist, trying to keep his temper under control. This cheetah was quite a fighter.

He tried a different tactic this time. Taking a hand carved wooden plate from off of the table, he retorted, flustered, "Fine, fine. You know what? I was going to save some of this juicy bird for you, too, but now, I think I'll just keep it all for myself."

Five minutes later, Hunter was picking apart the plump, roasted quail, enjoying the taste. He talked to the archer between mouthfuls.

"Mmm. This is a pretty good bird you shot. It's real plump and juicy. You know, you could be having some of it, too. All you gotta do is tell me your name."

Nothing but an icy stare. Hunter kept eating, juices dribbling down is chin.

"Fine. Suit yourself."

A third of the bird already passed into Hunter's belly. The truth was, he wouldn't mind too much if the archer didn't tell him his name. That way, he could have the rest of the quail. He was starving.

"Korrow."

Hunter heard the young cheetah's voice ring out over the sound of his chewing.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you."

"I said my name is Korrow."

Almost disappointed that he couldn't eat the rest, he passed the plate over to Korrow, who took it eagerly. The injured teen was also very hungry.

"Korrow, eh? That's a nice name," he said. "Nice to meet you, Korrow."

He held out his paw. The young archer kept on eating what was left of the bird, ignoring the paw in front of his nose. Hunter harrumphed.

"Alright, then." He pulled his paw back. "I'm just trying to be friendly."

"Well, stop trying and get the hell out of my house. I don't want, nor do I need you here." The insolent cheetah wiped the fat and juice from his hands on Hunter's cloak.

This time, the Avalarian could no longer hold his anger at bay. He slammed his right hand down on the table.

_Whump!_

The impact shocked Korrow, causing his plate of quail to fall over onto the floor. He shouted, his bared fangs reflecting his frustration.

"That's it. I've had it with you!" He reached down, ripping the cloak out from underneath Korrow's head. His head fell with an audible _thump_ onto the wooden floorboard. Korrow's mean hearted expression was discarded immediately for one of pain. He grabbed his forehead, groaning. But Hunter was far from sympathetic. He wiped the fat from the leather of his cloak, and began to put it on.

"Look, I'm sorry about tracking you. I'm sorry that I called you a child. I'm even sorry that I clobbered you last night. But you have no right to be as angry as you are!" His face screwed up into a look of disgust. "You're the one who threatened to kill me yesterday, stole my bow and arrows, and attacked me last night when I was about to leave in peace! And you have the nerve to act like this when you are the one who is the wrong?" He took a step back, biting his lip in rage. "And about tracking you, _excuse me_ for trying to find the guy who saved my life! As a matter of fact, thank you for saving me. If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't be here right now."

For the first time that morning, Korrow had nothing to say. Hunter still wasn't done, inhaling deeply before going on.

"Of course, you would probably prefer it that way." He grabbed a cloth that had been lying on the table and threw it at Korrow with a flick of his wrist. It landed on his chest. "All I wanted to do was thank you for what you did for me, and maybe, just _maybe_ get to know you a little bit. But I guess I set my hopes to high. How foolish of me."

He flicked the hood of his cloak over his head and turned his back to the prone figure on the ground. Korrow's mouth was open, but he had no intention of talking back. Hunter gave him a farewell.

"Goodbye, Korrow. And again, thank you."

He stepped through the doorway, not looking back.

He had only taken two steps out the door before he heard Korrow's voice echo out behind him.

"Hey... wait..." He sounded different, somehow. The arrogant whine was no longer there.

Hunter stopped dead in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder, back at the little wooden cabin, his mind racing. At first, he considered leaving anyway, but from the sound of his voice, he wasn't looking for a fight.

Then again, he could be trying to pull some kind of trick...

Hunter turned around, approaching the cabin and going back through the doorway. There Korrow lay, in the same spot as before, dumbfounded as Hunter walked back into the little dining room. He didn't think he could have heard him, but it seemed that his sense of hearing was very acute.

"What is it?" He crossed his arms over his chest, watching Korrow closely. He did not quite expect what happened next.

"I'm sorry." He blurted out. He tried to sit up gradually, letting his light body weight rest on his arms. His head was still swimming, but he ignored it. "I'm sorry for stealing your bow."

It was a little while before Korrow continued, seeing Hunter's left eyebrow raise, a gesture for him to keep going. "And for insulting you... and..."

He would have continued, but Hunter stopped him, raising his hand. "Thank you. I accept your apology."

He made a motion for the door, but stopped when Korrow called out, "Wait."

The archer's face looked very different from when he had woken up. Gone was any sign of aggression. Instead, it was replaced with lonliness. To be honest with himself, he had been wanting somebody to talk to for years, and here he was, turning away his only opportunity. He had an unlikely change of heart.

"Don't leave just yet."

Hunter stood there, looking at Korrow for a moment before making his way toward the other side of the table. He picked up a bucket, holding it in front of him so Korrow could see.

"I don't know about you, but I am parched. How about I go get us some water," he said, smiling good-naturedly. Korrow returned the smile.

Hunter walked out, pail in hand, heading towards the river.

...

The sun made it's journey across the sky, beating down on the grublin army below. A cheetah stood in front of the rest, leading the force over the meadow. Desraa scanned the horizon, seeing the mountain range thin out not too far ahead. Directly ahead of him, he knew, was the old campsite, the site of the Avalarian attack. All he had to do was move around the edge of the last mountain and keep going straight, and his army would make ruins of the Cheetah Village.

Yet, as he knew from the last attack, The Avalarians had been prepared. Of course, ambushing a force of this size would be suicide, but he knew they would have more than enough time to flee the village before his forces got there if he was seen. Tracking them down would be a hassle, and even worse, they might be able to escape.

Calling to his men, he pointed in the direction of the nearest mountainside, a heavily forested one. He started towards it, and the rest of his army followed blindly, only smart enough to follow their leader's orders.

They were heading straight for Korrow's cabin.

...

**Author's Note: Another cliffhanger? That's three in a row! :P**

**I am proud to say that I didn't update this chapter slowly. And what's more, it's my longest chapter yet(although I'll have to spend twice as much time to get it anywhere near the length of the chapters in Tears of an Oracle).**

**Just a random note, I'm trying not to use words like "men" or "people" in my story, because there aren't any men or people in the Spyro universe. It's a bit of an inconvenience, but whatever. :#**

**So, what will happen next? Tune in next time to find out. :D  
**


	9. Laments of a Young Cheetah

Korrow was feeling better now, his headache beginning to recede. However, the big lump on the top of his head had not gone away, nor would it leave for quite some time. He sat up in a chair now, giving Hunter's cloak back to him. It felt good to be able to move around a little, although the bump on his head was still sore. He found as long as he didn't touch it, he felt alright. Hunter had taken time to get the water from the river, and now, the both of them were drinking from wooden cups Korrow had taken out of a cabinet near the table.

"Ah, sweet water." Hunter dipped his glass into the water, feeling the chill on his fingers before taking it out and bringing it to his lips. Korrow watched with amusement as water dribbled down his chin and onto his shirt. After he had drunk his fill, Hunter uncapped his canteen and filled it up as well. No words were exchanged by the former enemies, but the tension between them had lessened considerably. Now, they were at least civil to each other, and that was a major step in the right direction.

While Hunter was busy filling his canteen, Korrow had grabbed the bucket filled with blackberries that he had hidden behind a tiny hutch next to the window. Hunter, despite his acute observation skills, did not even notice until Korrow's hand cam into his field of vision, filled with the juicy berries. Hunter's jaw dropped.

"Where'd you get that?" He asked in bewilderment. Korrow lifted the bucket, showing him the contents. Hunter held out his hand.

"Mind giving me a few?" He smiled.

Korrow reluctantly handed over the bucket to him.

Ten minutes later, the bucket sat empty between them, a juice stain on the bottom being the only trace left of the stash of blackberries. Both of them fixed their eyes on it, their stomachs still rumbling.

"So... do you remember where you got those berries from?" Hunter inquired, his eyebrows raised.

Korrow pointed upwards with his finger, as if the wall and roof were not obstructing their vision. "I remember seeing them much farther up the mountain yesterday, when I was out hunting. There were a lot of bushes, but only a few had any ripe berries."

They were quiet for a moment, before Korrow added, "But we could see if there are any other bushes nearby..."

Hunter's stomach had still not gotten enough food in it to satisfy his appetite, and so, it growled lightly. He flicked a gnat on his arm, brushing it off his fur.

"Perhaps we should go get some more. It isn't too far away, is it?" Hunter shuffled in his seat.

"No... Maybe a half hour, at most." He stopped. "You... wanna go now?"

As if on cue, Hunter left his chair behind, snatching up the little bucket.

"Sure, why not?"

He made a break for the door, but Korrow halted him, stating "We should bring more than one bucket. Let's use the water pail." He picked it up with both arms, pouring the cool, crystal clear water over the still glowing embers of the fire. He waved it at Hunter.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." He went out the door. "Let's go berrypicking!"

Korrow jogged outside, pail in hand, until he was right in front of Hunter. He indicated a small crag in the rock, a good distance away.

"That should be the right direction." He stepped over a boulder, looking behind him, surprised to see Hunter going back to the cabin.

"What are you doing?" He called out to the cloaked cheetah. He was given no response. He waited for awhile, perplexed until Hunter emerged with their bows and arrows in hand.

"Just in case we find something along the way, we should have these with us." He held out the bow and arrows to Korrow, who slung the quiver of arrows around his shoulder. Bows and buckets in hand, they went on their way.

Korrow led Hunter through the dense wood, stopping his straight movement when he approached the fast flowing river and moving alongside it. As they moved west, the land dipped down gradually, forming tiny rapids that turned the water from a transparent color into a sibilant, foaming white. At the base of the hill, the water churned, creating a violent whirlpool that roared like a waterfall.

"I call that the hellhole. It's a landmark I use to navigate this neck of the woods. You can't miss it." He walked onward, leaving Hunter to look at it for a moment. The Avalarian took up a stick, throwing it into the hole and watching as it was sucked underneath the surface. He smirked.

"Hellhole indeed."

A few minutes passed until the river grew much wider, causing the water flow to decrease until it was only ankle deep. Korrow started across, little rings of dust and dirt shooting up from underneath the pebbles and stones as he stepped on them.

"This is the only shallow crossing for three miles," he said as they trotted through. Hunter looked further downriver, seeing the river narrow further away. Hunter did not doubt Korrow at all.

They going became a lot steeper, the trees thinning out into rocks and boulders as they traversed the cliffside. Their legs grew tired, but they pressed on.

"How much further ahead?" Hunter peered down, the small grains of dust floating over the edge of the one hundred meter drop. They moved up the mountain, the cliffside now past them. Korrow turned to face Hunter.

"Not much longer. They're somewhere around here."

His vague description didn't give Hunter much confidence, but he followed anyway. The sound of the river had vanished, replaced with the warbling of the songbirds overhead. Hunter found it odd that they were even making this venture, but he didn't care too much. Anything was worth the silence of his rumbling tummy.

"This rock looks familiar..." Korrow looked at it, and gave a sharp nod to Hunter. "It's just to the right. They're real close to the cliffside." He turned sharply, pointing directly ahead. "Come on."

Hunter didn't say a word, trusting Korrow's judgment. The younger cheetah seemed to know his way around very well.

The sun climbed to the center of the sky, indicating that noon had arrived. The trees fanned out more and more the closer they got to their destination. Korrow nearly passed a shrub, but stopped, whipping his head around to take a closer look.

It was dotted with blackberries. He grinned, bringing the bucket up as he stepped over a tree root.

"Found 'em!" He plucked an especially juicy looking one off of the shrub and popped it into his mouth. Satisfied that it was ripe, he continued picking the berries, alternating between putting them in the bucket and into his open mouth. Hunter moved ahead, however, closer to the cliffside.

"I'm going to check over here!" He shouted. Korrow waved him off, occupied with his work.

"Sure, sure. Go ahead," he said absentmindedly, his mouth full of berries. "Tell me if you find any more, okay?"

"Okay." Hunter walked in the opposite direction, feeling the full power of the sun on his face as all of the foliage above him cleared away. He did not have to go far before he reached the rocky crag. He looked down, seeing the dizzying drop below. He searched the places around the rocks, and noticed a small pair of bushes. Even from where he was standing, he could make out the little black dots that hung off of the branches. He made a beeline toward them.

"I found more over here!" He did not wait for a reply from Korrow, who was still making short work of his own bush. He began to fill his bucket, falling into the temptation to eat a few as he did so.

"Alright, keep picking them." he said wit his mouth full. Hunter couldn't see him, but he could picture Korrow stuffing his face, black juice stains all over his cheeks. He smiled.

Because his bucket was so much smaller than Korrow's, it took him a matter of a minute to fill it to the brim. When he was done, he snatched a few more berries to snack on and wandered over to the ledge, taking in the nice view.

He scanned from left to right, noticing that both the forest below and the huge meadow from where Hunter had come across were visible. This was a great vantage point, he thought...

Without even having to think, his head suddenly jerked to the right. He had no idea why, but it did. Many years of examining and searching had sharpened his senses so much that sometimes, he could find something without even trying. He stared straight ahead, right at the spot he had turned to.

It looked as if that spot in the meadow was alive. At first, Hunter thought it could be the wind moving the grass, or perhaps, even his own mind playing tricks on him. But his instincts told him otherwise...

He dropped the bucket, the berries spilling onto the rocks. His breathing quickened.

Korrow had finished filling his pail, and was already making his way over to the cliff when Hunter bellowed, "Korrow! Come over here!"

He emerged from behind Hunter, the back of his head in plain view.

"What?"

Hunter indicated the spot in the meadow with his finger. Korrow looked in the same direction, and shrugged.

"I don't see anything... wait..." He shielded the sunlight from his face with his hand, taking a closer look. His mouth went dry when he realized what it was.

"Grublins!" He breathed the word, his heart racing. "Which way are they going?"

Hunter pointed west, his mouth going dry. "They're heading that way. But, at the same time, they appear to be getting closer and closer... oh no."

He followed the small army with his finger, and lowered it.

"They're heading right for..."

"...the cabin."

Korrow sprinted away, his bucket of berries forgotten as they bounced and rolled over the edge of the cliff. Hunter immediately set out in pursuit, his feet pounding on the ground.

"No! Korrow!" He tried as hard as he could to not lose sight of him, running as fast as he could until he nearly rammed into the rock they had seen earlier. He lost sight of Korrow, but he remembered the direction he had come from and set after Korrow, hoping he wouldn't get lost.

He encountered the cliff edge again, searching until he found the place in the cliff they had traversed. He slid down the thin, dusty path, nearly falling off at one point. He saw a flurry of movement at the base of the path, knowing it was Korrow.

He reached the bottom, running toward the crossing at the river, hearing the splish splash of Korrow's footpaws striking the surface of the water. He had to catch up to Korrow, and fast. The army was moving at an alarming speed, with the little cabin resting directly in their path of travel. It would take them a matter of minutes to reach it, and there was no way they could be there when that happened.

Hunter did not slow down one bit as he crossed in the shallow water, ignoring the sharp edges of the rocks as they dug into the pads of his paws.

"Korrow! What are you doing?" He screamed, fighting for breath.

The frantic young cheetah turned his head, not expecting Hunter to be this close to him. As he did, he tripped over a rock he hadn't seen, faceplanting onto the dirt. The bump on his head, already sore from exerting himself so much, exploded with a violent pain. He cried out, incapacitated by the blow.

Hunter would have stepped right over Korrow had it not been for his anguished cries. He skidded to a halt, kneeling down to Korrow. He tapped the side of his face lightly, speaking through his ragged breaths.

"Come on, Korrow! We need to hide, now!"

"No, no... Let me go..." Korrow, in a daze, tried to scramble away on all fours, but Hunter held him firm. As quickly as he could, he lifted Korrow up off the ground, grunting with exertion. Korrow could not resist through the cloud of pain in his head, and could only be led by Hunter downriver. Hunter practically carried him to the river crossing, the muscles in his arms crying out in protest. He set his course to a rocky outcrop at the base of the cliff.

The pain in Korrow's head began to subside, and he regained his feisty spirit. He resisted Hunter, wiggling his body from side to side. This caused Hunter to only grip even tighter.

"Stop it or you'll get both of us killed! Think clearly, damn it!" He shook Korrow, trying, and failing, to slap some sense into him.

Hunter leapt behind the rocks, pulling Korrow down with him. The young cheetah felt Hunter's hand clamp over his mouth and his arm wrap around his torso. He squirmed, but couldn't break free.

Hunter turned his head to the side, watching the other side of the forest through a crack in the rock. He struggled to keep the insane Korrow pressed to his chest, hoping for dear life that he wouldn't be heard. He was even tempted to knock him out, but did not want to hurt him again unless it was absolutely necessary.

They lay there for what seemed to be an eternity. Korrow stopped moving, seeming to come back to his senses. Hunter was grateful, but did not loosen his grip.

From his place behind the rocks, Hunter could see a flurry of movement in the forest. He froze.

A grublin passed in front of them, on the other side of the river, its short, stubby spear held upright. It was followed by several more. He could hear more following close behind, their feet disturbing the edge of the water. He did not know at first if they were crossing the river, but he soon realized that all of the enemy troops were passing on the other side of the river. He would have jumped for joy had it not been for his current position.

As he looked further into the forest, he could see another large column of grublins and other beasts. He estimated over two hundred soldiers were present, possibly more. He whispered into Korrow's ear.

"They'll be past us soon. Don't worry."

...

Desraa remained at the front of his army, hearing the bestial sounds uttered by the hideous creatures behind him. He hated their stench and their unintelligible garble that served as a language, but all of this was made up for their ferocity in battle and their lust for blood, which would come in great handy in the attack on the village.

"Commander, look what we found!"

Desraa heard the voice behind him and to his left, through the trees. He made his way over to it, seeing the creature that had made the sound pointing at a small wooden cabin. It was a goblin, a far more intelligent creature than a grublin. Their ability to talk and make decisions for themselves made them a much preferable alternative to the grublins which made up the brunt of the army. It was a shame they weren't more plentiful.

Many grublins stood around the wooden walls of the cabin, uncertain on what to do with their discovery. Desraa smiled.

"This place... I know this place..." He laughed, commanding his troops, "Se if there's anything inside of it that we could plunder."

The grublins obeyed, busting through the front door with their spear butts. As they did their work, Desraa looked the place over, noticing the neat and tidy rows of plants beside the house. He frowned.

He was not surprised to find that there was nothing of value inside the house. The grublins came back out with wooden spoons, the pot from the fireplace, and a couple more useless items, including a greasy plate. They piled them in front of Desraa's feet. He shook his head at them.

"Is that all?" He waved them off. They went away, back to the enlarging crowd behind him. He reached down to pick up the dirty plate. He wiped the grease off of it with his finger, looking genuinely confused.

"So what should we do with this?" The goblin gestured toward the cabin with his arm. Desraa tossed the plate back into the pile, wiping the grease onto his shirt.

"Burn it."

...

Hunter was losing circulation to his left arm, trapped between him and the ground. Korrow had gone limp, relaxed. Hunter guessed that he had come back to his senses after hearing the hundreds of creatures moving alongside the river. He gradually loosened his grip on Korrow, trusting him enough to not try and escape. He whispered to Korrow again.

"They should be gone, soon."

Through the crack in the rock, he couldn't see anymore grublins passing by. Still, trying to be on the safe side, he waited longer.

Thinking it was safe, he pushed himself up with his left arm, feeling the tingly sensation of the blood coming back to his arm. He held Korrow tight as he peered over the rocks.

They were greeted with the sight of thick, black smoke rising over the canopy. Korrow's scream was muffled by Hunter's hand.

Hunter had no time to tighten his grip as Korrow elbowed him in the side, tearing the hand off of his mouth and then back fisting him in the jaw. Hunter saw colored lights dance in his vision as he stumbled backward, swinging wildly with his hands in a daze. By the time he recovered, Korrow was halfway across the river. He wiped the blood off of his jaw and set off in pursuit.

The water of the river splashed onto his back, and the smell of smoke permeated the air. Hunter sprinted up the hill, nearly tripping on a tree root.

"Korrow!"

The fire licked hungrily at the cabin, engulfing it entirely. The inferno evaporated the tears that ran down Korrow's cheeks as he collapsed to the earth, dropping his bow as his cries of anguish were muffled by the sound of the roaring flames. Hunter skidded to a halt in front of the burning house, seeing the broken Korrow on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. He wanted to say something to him, something to comfort him or help him, but he could not think of anything.

Part of the wooden wall caved in, the flames seeming to pull it off of its foundation. The thatch roof had been turned to ashes in seconds, and the rest of the house was made invisible under the angry flames that consumed the wood like a starved beast. Korrow could no longer look at the fire, the heat that stung his face being too great. He covered his face with his arms, wailing.

Hunter stood, mesmerized. He never thought he would see the strong hearted, thick skulled Korrow like this, completely broken, overcome with grief.

The young cheetah took his head out of his arms, still crying, salty tears staining his cheeks. He opened his eyes, seeing Hunter standing there, looking at him with an expression of pity. Without warning, his sorrow turned into anger.

"Get out! I hate you!" He screeched, getting to his feet and balling his hands into fists. Hunter stepped back, knowing how volatile Korrow was. He tried to talk some sense with him, keeping his voice sympathetic.

"I'm sorry, Korrow. I'm so…" He got no further. Korrow ran forward, baring his teeth. Hunter jumped back, grabbing his bow with both hands defensively.

"You held me back! I could have been here, to defend my family household that's been here for generations! But you stopped me!" He marched forward, his sights set on Hunter.

"If I hadn't done that, you would have been killed!" He raised the bow up, preparing to defend himself from the advancing cheetah.

"I don't care! I'll die anyway now!" He lurched forward, fist raised. Hunter sidestepped, holding out the bow. Korrow's leg collided with it, causing him to stumble and fall. Hunter stayed where he was, speaking to the fallen Korrow.

"I am not the enemy! I am not the one who burned your home! Get a hold of yourself!" He paused, watching Korrow get up off the ground, wiping dirt off of his face. The burning cabin at his back, Hunter spoke to him again.

"I'm sorry about your home, really I am!" He was loud, but not mad. In fact, his eyes showed no signs of anger in them. Korrow stepped forward, but stopped. Hunter dropped his bow.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Korrow." He raised his hands. "You saved my life two nights ago, and what I did was simply returning the favor.

Korrow, still fuming, contemplated this gesture letting Hunter's words shake him from his enraged state. He did not want to believe the older cheetah. He wanted to stay angry at him. And yet…

His hands unclenched, the fury draining from his features. He shook violently, his teeth clenching up, trying to hold back the tears, but to no avail. Crumpling back down to the earth, he wept, his body racked with the choked sobs that escaped his throat. Hunter moved hesitantly forward, sitting next to Korrow, throwing an arm around him. Surprisingly, there was no backlash from the younger cheetah. Instead, he did nothing, letting his tears roll down his cheeks freely as he was held. Although not easily influenced emotionally, Hunter felt hot tears begin to well up in his eyes.

The flames ate away at what was left of the house, the blaze dying down as the wood gradually turned to ashes. They remained there for awhile, watching the house turn into charred rubble. Korrow could no longer cry. His head ached from the exertion, and he wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his cloak.

"You said this was your family's house," Hunter stated gently. Korrow made no sign that he heard him, but he was listening. Hunter continued.

"Korrow…where is your family?"

….

**Author's Note: So, yeah, it took awhile to update this…yet again. Sorry. **

**At first, I was going to write more of this, but I decided that it would be better if I updated this sooner and continued next chapter. Also, I apologize if this chapter is lower quality than my last ones. I dunno, maybe it's just me, but I felt like I didn't write this very well. **

**And this story is going to heat up very soon. Next chapter, most likely. :D I didn't put "large scale battles" in the summary for no reason, you know. **

**So, it looks like we're about to figure out the mystery of Korrow in the next chapter. Stay tuned for the next update! **


	10. A Duel and a Massacre

The heat of the fire washed over them like a wave. Korrow raised his head, licking the salt off of his lips. He wasn't crying anymore. The young cheetah balanced his body weight on the balls of his feet, turning to look up at Hunter. There were no more signs of anger in him. Hunter patiently waited, not knowing if Korrow would answer his question. To his surprise, he began to speak, turning to gaze at the firelight. Hunter gave him his undivided attention.

"I was too little to remember when my parents fled their village, when the war started. They sought refuge in my grandparent's house, which was this cabin. When they got there, my grandparents got real sick, and even though we cared for them, they died soon after. When he was on his deathbed, my grandpa told my father that the land, the cabin, and everything he could see from it was his from then on, right before he passed away. My dad told me the same thing to me, all the time. He would say, 'Someday, we'll be able to return to the village. But if we don't, when I die, this house will belong to you, son. Take care of it, protect it."

"I was just a kid then, many years ago. My family lived here in place of my grandparents, my father, my mother, and my sister. We were poor, but we survived. My dad was a hunter, and he provided for us. He taught me how to hunt, too. Him and I went hunting all the time. We tended the garden as a family, trying to get enough food to last us each winter. Each year, we worked hard to keep food on the table and live through each day."

His lip quivered as he tried not to cry. His emotional pain was tangible in the small space between them.

"We were hunting, me and my dad. It was really warm that day. We were only gone for a few minutes when I remember hearing a scream, back at the house. My dad ran back to the house to see what was going on. I tried to follow him, but he told me to wait there." He gritted his teeth.

"I wanted to go with, but I obeyed. So much time went by, and he still hadn't come back. I couldn't take it anymore. I went back to the house…"

He faltered, lifting a hand to his eyes, shielding the impending tears from falling.

He did not continue until Hunter spoke. "Korrow…what happened?"

The young cheetah shook his head roughly, one time, as if waking from a trance. He started again, breathing fast, speaking through sobs.

"The front door was wide open. Before I walked in, I could smell blood. When I walked in…my father was laying there… his mouth was open. There was blood all over the floor…my mother was in the back of the room. She was on the floor, facedown in blood. I tried…I…I tried to wake her up, but she wouldn't move. There was a slit across her throat. My sister was lying underneath her. She died, too."

His voice faltered less, appearing stronger than before. His eyes were strangely dry.

"I remember crying, shouting for mother to get up. I felt so helpless. My dad's lips started to move, faintly. I leaned in, trying to hear him, but he made no sound. I still don't know what he said…"

Hunter just sat there, taking everything in. He could not imagine the pain Korrow was going through. It was unbelievable that a kid his age…

He corrected himself. Korrow was not a kid. He was not innocent anymore.

"I buried them in the garden. I wanted so badly to kill myself. I felt like I had nothing to live for anymore. But I couldn't do it."

He shuffled on the dirt, resting on his knees, causing Hunter to let go of him. The young cheetah looked back up at Hunter.

"I didn't know my way back to the village, and so I stayed here. Then I remembered what my dad said to me. He told me to take care of the house, to protect it when he was gone. And that's what I decided to do." He wiped his nose. "And I've been here ever since. I went through hell these last couple of years, but somehow, I survived."

Hunter's shoulders sagged, and his stomach turned into a knot. He felt both pity and admiration for Korrow. Such a small child taking on such huge responsibility…

"Who killed them, Korrow? Who killed your family?"

He shook his head. "I do not know. But I swore that I would find out who, one day."

The cabin was a twisted, smoking ruin now. The flames died down, the smell of ashes and burnt wood permeating the air.

…

The army was making fast progress through the woods. Desraa noticed the edge of the mountain begin to change direction, gradually turning to the east. This meant they were entering the Valley of Avalar.

He smiled inwardly with sadistic pleasure, already imagining the outcome of the battle. His forces would undoubtedly make short work of the village. But, for some reason, knowing this didn't give him the satisfaction he expected it would.

All of it seemed so impersonal. All of his forces would eliminate the village before he could even be a part of the action. He wanted to be a part of the bloodshed; he wanted to cut down his most hated enemies, particularly one cheetah.

_Prowlus_.

He thought the name, hate and malice festering in his heart. That wretch was going to pay for banishing him. He wanted him to suffer slowly, to torment him until his final breath, to cut him to ribbons with his sword. But there no way to assure that happened. Unless…

He gave a delighted expression, his teeth showing briefly in a toothy smile. He knew just how he was going to get vengeance.

The army emerged from the forest, entering the outer edge of the valley. There was no hope for Avalar now.

…

Hunter and Korrow stood up, surveying the wreckage. Korrow couldn't take his eyes off of the plumes of black smoke that rose from the rubble. All of the furniture had been turned into fodder, and the chimney had fallen onto the rows of trampled plants that used to be the garden. Hunter placed a hand on Korrow's shoulder.

"Leave it behind, Korrow. There's nothing left for you here."

He nodded, almost invisibly. Deep down, he knew Hunter was right. This place had become nothing but a symbol of hardship, misery, and death. He shouldered his bow and quiver, the only things left in his possession, and turned away, following Hunter through the forest.

Silence reined, neither one of them speaking to each other. The smoky scent subsided to fresh air the further they moved away. Korrow could not resist looking back at his old little cabin until it was lost to sight, but not lost to mind.

"What am I going to do now, Hunter?" He scratched his arm nervously. "I don't have anywhere to go. Where am I going to live?"

Hunter flinched as he stepped on a sharp pebble. He stood on one leg as he removed the offending object from the pad of his footpaw.

"I intend to bring you back to the cheetah village, where I'm from. You won't have to live by yourself any longer." He smiled. "I'm sure Prowlus will be interested to hear your story of survival."

Without warning, Hunter stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes stared off into space, deep in thought. A low growl escaped from his throat.

"The grublins…they're, they're heading…" His limbs were paralyzed with fear.

Korrow looked at him, eyebrows raised in puzzlement. "What?"

He shook his head in disbelief, hands turning cold and clammy with fear.

"No… no, no! How could I be so stupid! No!" He kicked a rock into a ditch nearby, furious with himself as he lashed out a fern with his longbow. "They're heading straight for the village! It'll be ruins by sunset!"

"What are…"

Korrow didn't get a chance to say anything further as Hunter ran off, dodging low hanging branches and jumping over logs and fallen trees like a gazelle. Korrow ran after him, trying his hardest not to lose the distressed Avalarian. He dearly hoped Hunter was wrong.

"Wait for me!"

…

Desraa's forces had already made it past the forest and into the valley. They were less than an hour away, and even if they were seen, there was no way the villagers would be able to flee. His cold, murderous heart fluttered with anticipation.

His troops made it across a shallow point in the fast flowing river, and pressed on to the village, which was only two miles away. He was half an hour away from his prize, his revenge. The fingers on his right hand trembled with excitement, his heartbeat quickening as he saw visions of Prowlus, lying helpless at his feet.

Only a little while left to go…

…

Meadow was at work, gathering spices and herbs from the wood close by the village. He cut the top of a rosemary plant with the tiny knife he used just for the occasion, and placed it in a woven reed basket he carried in his left hand. It was full of other herbs as well, thyme, basil, and sage mixed with fresh chives he had plucked from the damp soil. It was a rich flavor combination he planned to use for another rabbit stew. Satisfied his basket was filled, he headed in the other direction, toward the cheetah village.

He didn't have to go far. The wooden fence of the village came into view at the top of the small hill, and he made his way towards it. Enjoying the little breeze in the hot summer's day, he casually glanced behind him, observing the position of the sun in the sky. It was late afternoon, and his shadow stretched to the east, becoming twice his size. As he looked however, something else came into his field of vision, near the horizon. He had to do a double take, seeing an odd line of black move into his view.

At first, he had no idea what it was, but the line got even wider and larger. Soon, he realized it was getting closer…

He wasted no time in bolting back to the village, herbs spilling out of his basket left and right.

"Grublins! Grublins! Sound the alarm!"

Prowlus, who was in the village, twitched his ears as he heard Meadow's distressed shout, faintly. He jogged over to the village entrance, seeing Meadow frantically running toward them. Sure enough, behind him was a big, black wall of advancing figures, crawling over the hilltops like rats. Prowlus yelled as loudly as he could, alerting the village.

"Grublins! We're under attack! To arms men, to arms!"

The villagers saw their chief, arms waving wildly, shouting the alert. Pushed into action, they scurried to a fro, gathering an assortment of weapons.

Meadow ran past the chief, back to his own hut. Prowlus drew his sword, preparing for action. The vile creatures poured over the crest of the hill, nearing the river. They were running now, beginning to cross the brook off in the distance. It would be only a minute until they poured into the village, making short work of the village.

Meadow came back out with a long, wooden stave, a wooden bauble at the end, filled with iron spikes. It was called a morning star, a fierce weapon in the hands of an experienced warrior. Meadow was one such warrior.

Dozens of cheetahs rallied at the spot where the chief stood, arrows notched on bowstrings and clubs and swords at the ready. Prowlus stood at the head of them all, visibly shaking in fear. His men wouldn't last against a force of this size. Where had they come from?

A few hundred meters turned into less than two hundred. He could see the eyes of the ghoulish vermin as they were almost upon them.

"Archers at the ready," Prowlus commanded. His pitiful force drew back the arrows on their bowstrings, aiming at a slight angle at the advancing army.

He raised his sword high, waiting until the enemy was in range. His heart thumped like a drum, readying himself for the final battle of his life. The sheer number of them was unnerving to everybody there. They all knew this would be their last few breaths on earth. Many of them scuffled their feet, about to flee, but Prowlus halted them.

"It's too late to run! Hold your ground, brave Avalarians! Hold your ground!"

One hundred meters… ninety…eighty…seventy…sixty…fifty…

They stopped.

Prowlus would have given the order to fire had it not been for this. Something stepped out of the crowd, shouldering his way through them. He took ten paces forward, exposing himself to the party of cheetahs. Prowlus saw him, and stepped forward.

"Well, Desraa, I never thought I'd see you again!" He called out. "I thought I had banished you from these lands!"

"So you did…_chief._" He spat with contempt lacing his words. "How does it feel, knowing you and your whole village is going to perish before sunset?"

Prowlus signaled his archers, curling his lip in disgust. "How about I fill you with arrows? Archers!" They all lowered their bows, taking aim at Desraa.

Surprisingly, the cheetah shook his head slowly, raising his arm in response. The distinctive sound of metal sliding against metal and the stretching of bowstrings became evident.

"If you do that, then I'll have my crossbowmen pepper your group with arrows until you look like pincushions. Your choice, Prowlus."

Prowlus cursed inwardly. "Well, what difference does it make? You said my men were going to die anyway!"

Desraa felt this flash of reason hit him in the chest. Prowlus was right. There was no reason not to kill him right here and now. Luckily for him, his quick wit saved his life.

"But your men may not die, Prowlus. There is another way to settle this. I have a score to settle with you, and to be quite frank, I am not interested in the rest of your rabble."

Prowlus growled. "What are you saying, Desraa?"

"You and I, Prowlus. A duel to the death. Let's settle this permanently." He said, his voice as cold as ice.

The Avalarian Chief thought for a second, still making his decision. To turn down Desraa's challenge would make him a coward. Nonetheless, he asked, "What happens if I win?"

Desraa had an answer ready. "If you win, my forces will give you a day's head start to flee. We will not attack you until sunrise. And if I win…"

He paused, smirking. "Then you will all be slaughtered on the spot."

"And how do I know your promise will be kept?" Prowlus inquired, wary. Desraa put his fist on his heart.

"You have my honor, Prowlus. Some of my men are intelligent enough to keep a promise, I assure you. If I should fall, they know what to do."

Prowlus, upon hearing this, nodded his head. "Very well, then. I agree to your terms. We shall duel. But understand, if there is foul play, my men will put arrows in you faster than you can blink."

Desraa nodded his head as well, drawing his sword. "No foul play. Face me, Prowlus." He twirled the sword skillfully.

Prowlus nodded, but took a step back. "Allow me to consult with one of my men before we begin."

Desraa licked his dry lips, lowering his sword. "Of course. Take your time," he said with a berating tone.

Prowlus did not turn his back as he walked backwards, noting the fear on his men's faces. It was an almost impossible situation they were in, but they would fight until the inevitable end. His thoughts drifted on Hunter, who still hadn't returned. Through his despair, he saw a light. At least Hunter might still survive.

He found Meadow in the crowd, hands gripping the fearsome looking weapon until his knuckles turned white. The chief to him in a whisper, trying to keep their conversation private from the rest of his men.

"I don't trust Desraa to keep his promise. Prepare yourselves for battle, no matter the outcome of the duel." He placed a hand on his shoulder. "In these last hours, you are the new chief of this village. If Desraa keeps his promise, lead them to the best of your ability to Warfang. If he does not, or if I should fall, lead these brave Avalarians into battle. Fight hard, for Avalar!"

Meadow couldn't have said anything at that moment. His chief had gone from a stubborn fool to a hero in just one year. His words instilled new life in the humble cheetah. Nodding his head, he went on the verge of tears. Prowlus grabbed his shoulder tightly, boring into his eyes with his own. "Do you understand me, Meadow?"

He bobbed his head up and down, still slightly unsure of himself. "Y…yes, chief. I understand."

Prowlus patted his shoulder one last time. Saying nothing else, he rotated, facing Desraa, who had already walked to the center of the field. The hiss of metal against leather was followed by the swishing of Prowlus's sword as he swung it experimentally. He went out into the field of combat, keeping his sword raised. He reached the center of the field, getting close enough to his enemy so that both of their noses were almost touching.

"Shall we fight?" Desraa asked casually. Prowlus nodded.

"We shall," he declared, adopting a fighter's stance, shoulders broad and bent at the knees, stepping back several paces. Desraa did likewise, not seeming nervous in the slightest as he held his sword with one hand, keeping the point aimed at Prowlus. They circled each other, Prowlus narrowing his eyes slightly as he sought an opening in Desraa's defense. One mistake could mean death for either combatant. Neither of them made a move…

With a loud roar, Prowlus leapt forward, his swordblade becoming a glittering arc in the sunlight.

Desraa brought his sword into a diagonal block, feeling the metallic clang as it made contact with his own blade. Prowlus hacked frantically at Desraa's sword in an attempt to disarm him. When this did not work, Prowlus swung horizontally as Desraa's torso. He neatly dodged the attack, and Prowlus only hit thin air. Desraa counterattacked, lunging forward with his sword. The Chief saw this motion and barely managed to swing his blade in defense as Desraa's swordpoint zoomed towards him. The parry knocked Desraa's sword aside, but only for a moment. He found himself desperately trying to ward off the swordpoint, which came within a hairsbreadth from piercing his flesh. He did a circular parry, and twirled to the right, letting the momentum of his body carry the sword forward.

He cleaved only the air, the ominous swish of his blade as it sliced the air the only result of his attack. Desraa had already stepped to the left, his blade held almost lazily in his hand. He looked confidently at the panting cheetah.

"Try again, Prowlus." He flicked the bladetip at him menacingly, grinning with pleasure. The chief held his sword out with both hands, examining Desraa's stance. He crouched, holding the sword straight out with both hands. Desraa scoffed lightly, taking a running step forward, whipping his sword down at Prowlus's head. The blade hit the chief's sword directly in the center as he blocked the strike, feeling the intense vibrations move down his arm. Desraa dragged the edge of his sword down the length of the opposing blade, hissing loudly as it raked across the metal. Prowlus rose from his crouch, swinging at Desraa's exposed neck.

The grublin commander saw the oncoming sword and dipped down, feeling the air whoosh past him as Prowlus's sword moved past. Flexing his leg muscles, Desraa shot forward, bulling into his opponent with his shoulder.

Prowlus cried out, careening backwards as he fought for balance. He fell to the earth, nearly landing onto his swordblade. Instinctively, he rolled onto his back, slashing at his assailant.

He wasn't there.

Desraa stood almost three meters away. Prowlus pushed himself up with his left arm, scrambling on all fours to get up. Desraa laughed evilly.

"You're going to have to do much better than that." He lurched forward, not giving Prowlus any warning. The battered chief saw the movement out of the corner of his eye, and swung in a wide arc, catching Desraa's blade in midair. He brought Desraa's blade down to the ground, a soft thud heard as both of their swordpoints buried themselves in the dirt. Desraa, his sword trapped, threw a backhanded punch at Prowlus. It impacted squarely on the center of his cheek, and Prowlus yelled out in pain as he fell, seeing stars. He tore the sword out of the ground with him, freeing Desraa's own blade. The evil cheetah plucked it out of the ground coolly, spitting on Prowlus's fallen form. The chief stumbled, dizzy from the blow he had been dealt. He regained his composure, seeing Desraa directly in front of him, his sword once again held loosely at his side. The grublins watched the fight with glee, giggling insanely at the outmatched Prowlus that was weakly trying to stand.

The Avalarians watched their leader dolefully as Desraa toyed with him, knocking him to the ground. Meadow felt anger build up inside of him, the veins in his neck bulging. Gliding to the front of the group, he clutched his weapon tightly in his hand. His nostrils inflated as he exhaled violently through his nose. Desraa wasn't even trying.

Desraa looked down the field, enjoying the Chief's pain as he used the tip of his sword to prop himself up. Already tiring out, Prowlus gasped for air. Desraa advanced, whirling his sword in a figure eight motion as he approached. The blade became indistinguishable as the speed increased. Prowlus backed away, pointing his blade straight out, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The distance shortened more and more until Prowlus made a quick thrust at Desraa's chest.

_Clang!_

The force of the blow knocked Prowlus's sword down, leaving his chest exposed. He brought up the blade just in time to block Desraa's counterattack, the lightning quick slash knocking his blade to the side. Prowlus turned with the hit, cat rolling away. Desraa anticipated this move, and stretched out the swordblade, cutting a gash in Prowlus's side. Sitting up from the roll, he placed a hand on his wound. Warm, sticky blood ran over his fingers and shirt, running down his leg. Ignoring the injury, he faced Desraa, who was nonchalantly moving toward him.

"I can't tell you how fun it is to watch you suffer." He laughed wickedly, wiping the blood on his sword on the grass. Prowlus, his arms tensed and his mind still alert sprang up, rushing unexpectedly at his most hated foe. Desraa waited until the last possible second, right when Prowlus slashed at his neck, to make his move. Ducking, he held his sword overhead diagonally, feeling the blade clash against it, the momentum carrying it down the length of his sword until it sank into the ground. Desraa slid forward, flicking his sword at Prowlus as he skimmed past.

Prowlus inhaled sharply as he felt the cold metal slice his side, spattering droplets of blood onto the grass. He fell onto his hands and knees, the pain lancing up his side and neck. Blood seeped into his clothes like water. He looked over his shoulder, exhausted and dizzy from the loss of blood. The grublin army cheered for their leader, while the top of the hill remained still and silent. Desraa indicated the crowd of cheetahs with his sword, blood dripping from the edge and onto the field.

"You have failed them, Prowlus. How does it feel, knowing that your men must despise you in your final moments? How does it feel, knowing that their blood is on your hands?"

Prowlus, following the direction of his adversary's sword, peered up at his men. They were the picture of despair, gazing at their Chief with grave expressions of sorrow.

He could even see Meadow at the front of the group, his mouth moving obscurely. He examined the movement reading his lips.

_Get up._

Fire coursed through his veins, newfound energy swelling inside of him. He grabbed his sword with both hands, gripping it like a vise. Twisting around, he gave a mighty shout, whirling his sword aloft.

"Avalaaaaaar!"

Desraa parted his lips into a smile. He dodged the attack with ease, tapping his blade onto the oncoming sword in a parry, causing Prowlus to stumble. Desraa rapped Prowlus's neck one time with his open hand, stopping him on the spot. He shot right past him as he held his sword in a downward stabbing motion, plunging it into Prowlus's back.

Prowlus could not cry out in pain as he stared down, his head hanging down to look at the swordblade that seemed to grow out of his chest. He felt his muscles relax, and he dropped his sword as his fingers lost their strength. The grublins seemed to be miles away as they squealed in approval.

Desraa relished the moment, a hiss escaping from between his teeth as he yanked the sword out of Prowlus's back viciously. The Chief gasped in agony, blood dribbling out of his mouth as he coughed blood onto his shirt. Desraa sneered, and then placed the edge of the sword on the back of Prowlus's knees, dragging it across the skin and muscle. The half dead cheetah crumpled to the ground, no longer able to stand. He swayed back and forth, about to fall down until Desraa's hand grabbed his shoulder, holding him up. He placed the flat of the blade on Prowlus's collarbone as the defeated cheetah's head lolled to one side.

Meadow gave a strangled sob as Desraa raised his sword behind his head, the blade glinting in the sunlight. He brandished his weapon, preparing for the inevitable battle.

Desraa paused only one moment before he swung.

Prowlus's headless carcass remained upright as his head rolled down the field, coming to rest at the foot of a goblin at the front ranks. Meadow looked away, feeling nauseous as he retreated back a pace, urging his fellow warriors to action as he remembered his Chief's final wish.

"Archers to the ready! Raise your bows, now!"

Desraa kicked the headless body over, noticing the flurry of movement from the top of the hill. He immediately took flight, knowing what that meant. He shouted to his anxious troops, who were raising their weapons eagerly.

"Kill them all! Destroy the village!"

They needed no second bidding. Squealing with murderous delight, they charged, enveloping their leader and covering him from any arrows

The villagers shook with fear as the thundering mass raced up the hill. Meadow, took full charge, yelling, "Fire at will!"

Arrows poured forth from desperate bows. The projectiles hissed like snakes as they found their marks, felling many. They fired in a steady stream until Meadow waved his weapon in the air back and forth, his cries almost lost over the sound of the fast approaching wall.

"Fall back! Fight them in the village!"

Desraa stayed behind with fourscore crossbowmen, watching the villagers flee to temporary safety. He shouted to his crossbowmen, "Raise!"

They followed his command, aiming at the backs of the cheetahs.

"Fire!"

The dull smack of the cords as they launched the little arrows across the field was heard all the way up the hill. Meadow gritted his teeth, bracing himself.

The arrows fell like rain onto the retreating forces. Screams tore themselves from the throats of over half of them as they fell, their lives snuffed out like candles.

Meadow grunted as an arrow hit him in the back, followed by another one in his arm. Practically feeling the breath of the grublins on his neck, he turned to face the enemy, not caring about the pain. He looked at his feet to see his brethren, lying slain and critically wounded. Blood seeped into his eyes, turning them red with fury. Ripping out the arrow from his arm and hurling it at the enemy, he threw himself at the oncoming enemies, laughing like a madbeast. The pitiful few that remained followed Meadow into the fray, bravely bellowing their last warcries.

Meadow, covered in his own blood, battered away at the enemies around him ferociously, oblivious to his wounds. He swung with such force that the shaft of the weapon split in half. Nonetheless, he clubbed left and right with the broken side, little more than a stick as he was lost to sight under the mob of grublins.

He gave one last warcry to the setting sun.

"For Avalaaaaaaaar!"

….

Hunter's feet slammed into the ground like twin pistons as he booked it across the field, following the pressed down and trampled grass. Korrow could barely keep up, his lungs screaming for oxygen as he mindlessly fumbled on, his clothing sticking to him from the sweat.

As he pressed doggedly on, Hunter saw something that made his blood turn into ice.

Smoke.

"No…" he sputtered, his eyes watering. "No…"

He hit the crest of a tall hill, sliding to a halt. His village, framed by the sunset, burned.

He wailed, casting his bow to the ground and burying his head in his arms.

"_No!"_

…

**Author's Note: So, I guess this was a rather eventfull chapter. To be honest, I felt genuinely depressed as I wrote this. At first, I was all gung-ho about making this scene, but after I wrote it, I almost felt bad. I tried to make Desraa as evil as I could, and I think I succeeded. 0_0 In fact, at this point, I'm considering changing the rating to M, because there's gonna be a lot of violence in the future, too. **

**Anyway, please, read and review! Let me know if there's something you don't like, or if there's something I can work on! Or else, just to say "hi" or something like that. **


	11. Departure

Korrow had somehow managed to stay with Hunter, his legs weary. He tripped on a rock, his legs crisscrossing as he struggled to move on. He spat on the ground as he looked up, coming to a clumsy stop as he came near the weeping Hunter. He saw the village aflame, and realized immediately why Hunter was crying. Having nothing to say or do, he placed his hands on his knees, sucking in air greedily.

The black blob of Desraa's forces still enclosed the village, their bestial sounds reaching the two cheetah's ears. The sun continued to fall below the horizon, peeling away the blue sky and revealing the moon underneath. The annihilated village was a blemish on the beautiful scene that surrounded them. Hunter lifted his face, the flames dancing in his eyes. He whipped his head around, seeing Korrow there, looking with horror at the cheetah village.

"This…this was my home." His sleeves soaked up his tears. "I should have been here, to warn them! But instead, I was out picking berries!" He dug his claws into his fur, grating his teeth together with self hatred.

Korrow stayed quiet, not wanting to say anything to upset Hunter even more. Uneasy, he watched the black blob of grublins begin to move away from the collapsed fence of the village, flowing over the grass like slime. It was plain to see that they were getting closer, but he didn't have the heart to move Hunter.

The cloaked cheetah wrapped his fingers around the longbow, his jaw clenched together with contained fury. Everything he was had perished in the flames that continued to ascend higher and higher in the late evening sky, almost indistinguishable, blending in with the golden hue of the horizon.

He was the last Avalarian.

This realization pierced him like a dagger. It was almost too much for him to take in. In an instant, everything he knew had been ruthlessly destroyed. His brothers, his friends, and his chief were dead, and their homes…his homes… were up in smoke.

The sounds of the terrible grublin army were made obvious to Hunter's sharp ears. He looked ahead, to see the black mass approaching the crest of the hill.

What little strength he had left spurred him on to action. He arose, shouldering his bow. Korrow was startled by this sudden movement, and followed Hunter once more as he rushed away, still trying to catch his breath. He resisted the temptation to shout out for fear of being heard by the Desraa's forces, resting his hand on the strap of the quiver of the arrows that threatened to slip from his shoulder. After a short time, it became evident that Hunter was heading for a huge boulder that jutted out of the landscape, in the opposite direction of the enemy. It hung like an awning over the grass, the waning rays of sunlight beating down on the inside, it shadow reaching out to touch them as they neared it. Hunter ran pell-mell to the other side, swinging around with his left arm and landing nimbly on his paws. Korrow did the same, landing beside Hunter, scooting in until he was bent double under the outstretched rock.

Hunter's eyes were wet, the tears mixing with the sweat on his face and cloak. They sat there in eerie silence, hearing the clattering thud of footsteps in the distance. Korrow rolled over, peeking around the edge of the big rock.

He could make out each individual grublin on the crest of the hill they had just been at. They moved without any order, scurrying over the Valley of Avalar, too unsophisticated and unintelligent to march in a line. The young cheetah was close enough to see the distinctive stains of blood on some of their weapons, even with the little light provided. This confirmed that the villagers had not escaped. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

He rolled back over, wide eyed, looking to Hunter.

"They're practically right behind us. We made it here just in time."

There was no reply, just the back of Hunter's head, hung low on his chest with despair. Korrow decided it would be better if he didn't bother to try and start a conversation with Hunter, and rested his head on his upraised knee, resting to the drumming of footsteps.

Hunter wanted more than anything in the world to tear apart each and every grublin with his bare hands, one by one. Helpless feelings nearly led to panic, but he kept himself sane through intense concentration on the situation at hand. It was only momentary relief as imaginations of his fallen comrades penetrating his train of thought in vivid detail. He fought them with every ounce of strength, trying to be strong, tightening the muscles in his jaw with the effort.

Clouds rolled in and covered the moon, blocking any light that wished to kiss the earth, allowing darkness to prevail. The sounds of the receding army faded into the night, their torches flickering softly in the distance. On the hilltop, firelight formed a line of gold on the hilltop where the cheetah village once stood, the huts no more than crumpled piles of glowing wood, the flames still ravaging the remains. Hunter could almost feel the flames eat away at his own heart.

The sun set just as the sound of footsteps died away. Nonetheless, Korrow didn't speak or make a move. He wanted Hunter to have a moment.

A little piece of the stone began to stab Hunter's back, forcing him to move. He knew what he had to do, but he felt as though nothing even mattered anymore. Everything had gone to hell, and he felt like it was his fault. If he could have warned them like last time, they could have escaped to Warfang. But he had failed them.

Korrow, unable to wait any longer, finally murmured to Hunter, "What are we going to do?"

"How should I know?" Hunter snapped back. "I don't have all the answers, damn it!"

Korrow regretted asking anything at all, diverting his attention to the moon which faintly shone through the clouds. Hunter turned away before Korrow could notice that he was crying. "We can't do anything!"

The young cheetah wanted to say something in retort, but bit his tongue. Hunter was right. There was nothing they could do for a village that had already been razed to the ground. Hunter's next words only made certain his mental anguish to Korrow.

"I could've done something, though. I could've warned the village that they were coming, and I could've saved every single one of them!" He punctuated his last word with the pounding of his fist on the rocky soil. Korrow flinched. "But I didn't! And because of that, they're all dead!"

Every muscle in Hunter's body tightened, his facial expression scaring the cornered Korrow and causing him to wince.

"You couldn't have done anything to stop this, Hunter. You would've been killed right along with them…"

"You don't know that!" Hunter bellowed. "I never stay inside of the village for very long! I could have seen them as they entered the valley!"

At hearing this, Korrow knew that he shouldn't say anything else, but he couldn't stop himself.

"You can't just blame yourself for this. It was not your fault that they were killed!" He looked Hunter straight in the eye. "You were not the one that killed them and burned down your village, they did!" He gestured behind them with his thumb at the no longer visible grublin army.

Hunter was stunned to silence, but only for a moment. He looked away, in thought. Korrow prepared for some sort of reply, patiently waiting.

"If only I hadn't left the village, then I could have…"

Without warning, he paused, his eyes fixed on a spot in the dirt, as if he had mistakenly uttered a curse.

"The only reason I left was to look for you…if I hadn't done that, I would have been there, to warn them, to help them escape…"

All of his anger he had been harboring at himself shifted almost instantly to the young cheetah beside him. Korrow felt butterflies in his stomach as Hunter glowered at him. His fist clenched and his eyes colder than ice, he spewed forth three words with devastating effect.

"I hate you."

At first, these words confused Korrow, but confusion soon turned to fear. He asked nervously, "What?"

"You stole my bow and arrows and forced me to retrieve them. You wasted my time and made me take care of your worthless hide after I knocked you out. You were the one that prevented me from getting back to my village in time. It was your fault."

Korrow was simply too shocked to reply, looking at Hunter with disbelief. The older cheetah continued, paying no mind to the feelings of the cringing form next to him.

"If it hadn't have been for you holding me up, my people would still be safe. I should have killed you when I had the chance, scum. I hate you."

These words lingered in the still air around them. In a moment, their friendship had been shattered. He scooted away, too surprised for tears as his voice rang out through a sob.

"I'm sorry, Hunter… I…I didn't mean to do…"

"Get out of here. _Now._" His voice dripped menacingly, his hand moving to his boot dagger, fingering the pommel gingerly.

Korrow did a double take on the black void before him, breathing fast. The moonlight could no longer penetrate through the grayish black clouds, making it nearly impossible to see anything more than a few meters away. He didn't move, rooted to the spot. Hunter noticed his hesitation, and callously whipped out his dagger, getting to his feet as he roared, "Now!"

Moving backward, Korrow fell onto his back. He scrambled to his feet as Hunter came toward him, brandishing his dagger. He had no choice but to run. Taking one last look at his former friend, he ran off into the night, his bow held loosely. He fled in the darkness, tripping and stumbling blindly as he disappeared from sight.

Minutes went by, dragging on and on. Hunter remained still, in disbelief of what he had done. The hand which held the dagger trembled, and the weapon slipped from the palm of his hand, falling onto the dirt. An overwhelming onslaught of grief washed away his anger, and his legs gave out from under his body.

"Korrow… why did…no…"

He became racked with sobs, filled with regret. He cried out as loud as he could, but he went unheard.

"Korrow! Korrow, I'm sorry! Please, come back! No!"

The chirruping of crickets answered his desperate calls, mocking him with their jubilant song. He lay down on the earth, the fire still blazing where his village had stood only hours ago. Korrow, his only friend, had vanished in the night, never to be seen again.

Now, he was truly alone.

…

Desraa swaggered confidently beside his victorious army, feeling as though he could dance with happiness. He toyed with the pommel of his sword, forgetting his tiredness and keeping himself awake with the euphoria of sated revenge. The flames of the torches illuminated the ground and, at the same time, shrouded the stars in a transparent fog.

Guttural sounds of many evil creatures seemed distant as Desraa reflected upon the day's events. Memories of Prowlus lying headless on the grass filled him with maniacal glee. The one who had banished him from the village, his greatest enemy, had been dealt with. Now, he could go back to Malafron, sharing the good news of Avalar's destruction. He was also glad that he had not have to face Malafron with a report of his failure, for the young dragon was never merciful if his orders were not carried out.

Yet, through all of his elation, a twanging doubt remained, subconscious and subtle, like the feeling of hot breath upon someone's neck. There was no explanation he could give for it, and the further he drew away from the scene of the massacre, the more it began to bother him. He felt as though something had been incomplete about the whole thing, that he had forgotten something important. The cheetah commander ruminated on it for awhile, trying to find an explanation for his doubt, and the more he thought, the more foolish it seemed. Nobody had survived, he knew. He had severed Prowlus' head, and he had witnessed his army make short work of the rest.

So what was wrong?

Perhaps he was just tired, and his mind was just playing tricks on him, he reasoned. Nonetheless, he didn't want to take any chances in case he was wrong. He began to list the names of cheetahs he knew had perished.

He listed Prowlus off right away, knowing for sure that he was dead. He had seen Meadow plunge into his army, along with the rest of his small force. As if that weren't enough, the entire village had been razed to the ground.

But who was missing?

Within moments, Desraa's thoughtful expression changed to a look of fury. There was still one cheetah that lived, one that had not been present. He had probably been skulking away in the trees, hiding like a filthy coward beneath his damned cloak. And, if this was the case, he could be well on his way to Warfang at this moment, to tell them what happened to the Cheetah Village.

Desraa could not let Hunter escape. His life depended on it.

Holding up his hand, he yelled out an order for his army to stop. "Halt the line!"

They obeyed reluctantly, not being beasts that enjoyed following orders. Suddenly, he gave a loud, angry roar, startling his army. Turning around, he looked through the sea of faces, searching for one in particular. When he located the creature he was looking for, he stepped through the crowd, jostling them aside if they did not get out of the way. He waded through the mass until he came face to face with a goblin, the same one he had spoken with earlier that day. He had to crane his neck downward in order to make eye contact with the goblin.

"Tell me your name." He commanded the much shorter goblin. The simple creature processed the sentence, and then replied respectfully.

"Golinod, commander Desraa." He stared attentively at his much taller leader with black, beady eyes, awaiting orders. Desraa nodded his head in apprehension, and lowered the volume of his voice to a near whisper.

"It appears as though our work at the village has not been finished. There is one last cheetah left alive."

The forehead of the goblin wrinkled with the surprising news. Desraa leaned in closer, so that no words would be heard by the others around him.

"Take one hundred troops with you, and move back to the village. Scour the land. Search for the last cheetah. When you find him…" he paused, gritting his teeth together in contained rage, "tear him limb from limb."

Golinod nodded, sharp rows of yellow teeth visible from between his thin lips as he grinned maliciously, his hunger for blood reborn.

"Go now. Make haste, and return to the Catacombs after you deal with the escaped cheetah. He should be wearing a cloak on his back. He will be moving very quickly. Kill him before he can reach Warfang. Do you understand?" The words came out in a steady stream, completely without pauses. Fortunately, the goblin did not notice his leader's panicked speech, and responded by placing his hand over his chest, confirming that he had understood.

"Yes, Commander."

…

Hunter stood in the dew covered grass, the tips of the tiny green blades tickling his ankles. His eyes roved from left to right, breathing in the smoke that drifted down the hill, guided by the morning breeze. Another smell was present, its metallic scent blending with the smoke.

Blood.

Hunter stooped down to pick up the sword of his fallen chieftain, whose headless carcass had been trampled underfoot. The last Avalarian could not shed tears any longer, almost numbed to the death of his companions in such a short while. He could not look at Prowlus's carcass, feeling sick to his stomach. Turning his back, he moved up the hill, carrying the sword by the flat of its blade with one hand and the center of the handle with his other, as if he was about to present it to somebody. Fallen grublins, transfixed with arrows, lay scattered over the soft grass, showing that the brave cheetah warriors had at least put up a struggle. Eyes that showed no life behind them, two pale green orbs that were shrouded with mist, had replaced the grieving cheetah's formerly vibrant eyes.

Grass gave way to dust as he walked into the scene of a massacre. The arid soil absorbed the blood which had poured from the bodies of the cheetahs that lay scattered over the ground. Bloodied corpses of grublins and other hideous beasts lay onto top of and beneath them, outnumbering the dead Avalarian villagers nearly two to one. An area of dead grublins, larger than the rest, caught Hunter's eye. From underneath one of the beasts, a paw that still contained the broken remains of a staff was visible. He cautiously stepped over each of the bodies, about a dozen, and made his way toward it. Many Avalarian faces greeted him with blank expressions, seized with death. The forlorn cheetah looked away from them. Reaching the place where the outstretched paw lay, he grasped the skinny arm of a goblin, the matted blood from one of its wounds sticking to the pads of his paws. As he tossed it aside, the almost unrecognizable face of Meadow peered back at Hunter with glazed, unmoving eyes. What was left of his morning star staff had been driven through the goblin's abdomen, causing blood to spill over the terribly mutilated Meadow.

The last Avalarian cheetah breathed heavily, setting the sword of Prowlus beside the body of Meadow. Reverently, Hunter kissed his two middle claws, his eyes filled with tears as he placed them upon his dead friend's forehead.

"Sleep in peace, brave warrior of Avalar."

Hunter departed the Cheetah Village silently, leaving behind the sword of Prowlus, stuck point first in the very center of the village.

…

Hunter's usual energetic gait had deserted him as he headed in the direction of the forbidden passage. He felt so powerless, so feeble. So guilty.

Twice since the night before he had contemplated suicide, but he had decided against it. The only thing powering him on was his sense of duty to his people. If he were to die, the Avalarians would truly cease to exist.

But then, there was Korrow…

Hunter had never felt so evil before. He had been ready to kill the young cheetah, to strike him stone dead, and all out of blind rage. It hadn't been Korrow's fault that his brothers had been killed, he knew. He wanted so badly to find Korrow again, to apologize for the terrible thing he had done. But it was too late. Korrow would probably rather kill him than forgive him after what happened.

He readjusted the bow around his shoulder as is slid down his shoulder and onto his arm. Meadow grass all around him began to sway back and forth, whispering ominously. The clouds above Hunter looked like small cotton balls, glued to the blue dome of sky behind them. The horizon on all sides appeared hazy and white, growing less and less translucent with every minute that passed. Hunter knew from years of experience in the wilderness that there was only one thing that could mean; a bad storm was coming.

Hunter shook his head, half caring, half apathetic. He was taking the passage underneath the mountain anyhow. It didn't matter whether there was rain or shine.

Small boulders and rocks began to dot the terrain as the going got steeper. He felt the unpleasant sensation of rock pieces collecting in his pawpads, but he didn't care. The whoosh of the little waterfall on the side of the mountain became evident, drowning out the sound of the breeze rustling the fields. Hunter remembered that next to the waterfall was the entrance to the home of the old hermit, who had passed away only a season ago. Every moment that he thought of the life he was forced to leave behind caused him to feel utterly alone. His focus drifted away for a moment, and he stepped on a sharp stone. He grimaced, hopping a single time on one foot before placing his other foot back down. For a short while, he stared down at the ground, his teeth bared in frustration as he made a clear effort to avoid stepping on anything else.

He looked up and surveyed the area around him with a quick glance from left to right. Even through the miniscule jolt of pain in his right paw, he was able to recognize a slight alteration in the meadow far off to his right. His fur prickled as a chill ran through his spine. He did not have to look for long to realize what it was.

"Oh…"

He took off, one hand clutched onto his bow, tensing up his chest muscles so the strap of his quiver would have no chance of falling off of his back. Expertly, the fleeing cheetah donned the hood of the heavy cloak with a sudden dip of his back in an attempt to remain unseen by the large crowd that was advancing in his direction.

He reached the narrow line of trees that lay at the base of the mountain line, his paws adjusting to the slope of the incline. Leg muscles on fire, he stooped low, the base of his cloak partially hiding his footpaws. With a clean, fluid movement, he wrapped one arm around the middle of boulder and swung around it using his momentum, landing on two feet and facing in the direction of the valley.

Sure enough, another platoon of grublins was traveling over the meadow, heading back in the direction of the ruined Cheetah Village. Hunter was taken in a grip of puzzlement and fear, hoping that he hadn't been seen. What in the gates of hell was going on?

They were only a stone's throw away from where Hunter was concealed, and had it been a miracle that he had not been seen running up the slope of the hill. He waited with baited breath for them to pass, loosening his bow in case he would have to fight back. It was suicidal, but there was no way to escape. At least he might be able to take a few of the monsters with him.

The pitter patter of feet slapping onto the still damp ground grew louder than before, the unintelligible garble of the grublins faintly audible. He was sure that he would be discovered, but he held fast, not daring to peek out from behind the rock. He held his breath

Thankfully, after bracing himself for almost five minutes, the noise emitted by the small army of grublins as they marched away lessened considerably, leaving the cheetah undetected. Expelling all the air out of his lungs, he released the tension he had held inside. Still, the question remained; why were more grublins returning to the village?

Perhaps they were trying to make sure everything had perished. However, as soon as he had thought that, he shook his head at the ridiculousness of the notion. They had already made sure everyone was dead the first time around.

So why…?

Hunter couldn't put his finger on it, but at the moment, it didn't matter. All that mattered right now was making it to the Dragon City. Yet, at the same time, he had a grim curiosity…

Just then, the group of grublins began to visibly scatter into smaller groups, each of them heading in a different direction. Hunter's claws scratched into the rock with anxiety. Where were they going?

All of a sudden, it occurred to him; they were heading straight for Korrow.

"No!" He grunted through gritted teeth. Claws digging into the rock like knives, he contemplated what he should do. On one hand, there was a duty he felt to report what had happened to the village, and that it was the most important thing he could do.

On the other hand, there was Korrow, the friend he had forsaken and rejected. Guilt would follow him all his life for the hurt he had caused his former friend, and to leave him to be captured or killed would be too much for him to bear. Korrow had saved his life, and now it was time to return the favor.

Thunder boomed in the distance as Hunter donned his hood, keeping the grublin army in sight as he set off in cautious pursuit.

…

**Author's Note: So, if anyone is still following this story, you might be wondering why it's been months since I've made an update. Well, to tell you the truth, it was miraculous that I could update at all, because I'm actually not even allowed on fanfiction anymore. My parents banned me because it was a "waste of my talents" or something like that. Anyhow, it took me a month to rewrite this chapter(because my parents made me delete the old one) and keep it a secret, so I hope it's decent. **

**And I know this chapter is filler, but once the real action starts, you're in for a wild ride, meesa promise. :D**

**Also, updates are going to be kind of slow because I'm not supposed to be on anymore, and it takes me awhile to sneak chapters in. Sorry. **


	12. The Hunters and the Hunted

Korrow had not stopped moving since the previous night, propelled onward by his feeling of betrayal and disgrace. It all made him sick to his stomach. The young cheetah still envisioned Hunter's knife, pointed at him menacingly, telling him to run. Telling him that he hated him. That everything was his fault.

But was it?

Ruminating on this question only caused him to become discomforted and confused. He could not imagine that it was his fault, but the more he thought about it, the more he began to believe Hunter was right. He stole his bow and arrows, he wasted a lot of Hunter's time, and he kept him from warning his village of the impending doom that would befall them. A teardrop formed in his eye, but he successfully repressed it. How had it come to this?

The air pressure dropped around him, both of his ears popping simultaneously. Moisture in the air stuck to his fur, creating sweat on the tip of his snout as the environment grew sticky around him. He entered the tree line, jumping at the sound of a loud boom behind him. Peeking through the leaves of the trees behind him, he was greeted with a black sky that pulsated with electricity. He swore, and said aloud to himself, "That does not look good."

Seeking shelter, Korrow dodged through the woods, grimacing as his leg brushed into a thornbush. He didn't bother with picking them out, not wanting to be caught outside in a storm of this magnitude. Another flash of lightning made Korrow brace himself for another roll of thunder, desperately looking for a place he could use for shelter. When he found nothing, he took off, instinctively ducking down as a thunderclap slammed against his eardrums. Within the span of several seconds, the wind began to pick up. Stout trees bowed to the might of the oncoming storm, one gust flipping Korrow's hood up and over his head as he ran.

There was nowhere to go…

Whirling his head around in a desperate search for shelter, he sensed his futility against the storm's wrath growing. If he couldn't find some cover, he would be in grave danger. Heart thumping wildly, he kept up his search.

By some miraculous stroke of luck, he spotted a rocky outcrop not too far away. Smiling with momentary relief, he made a beeline toward it, wincing as the wind lashed at him with the ferocity of a wild animal. There was hardly any time to spare as Korrow made it to the rocks, finding one that lay across another like a tent. Hiding underneath it, he settled himself in, knees hugged to his chest in order to fit into the cramped space. The young cheetah waited patiently until the rain and hail began, bouncing off of the mammoth stones above.

…

The light had stopped shining on the Dragon City, blocked by clouds that had once again rolled in, showing a grayish tint. Spyro's wings drooped, disenchanted with the prospect of more rain.

"Looks like another storm is coming." He mumbled to Cynder as they walked on the marble path. Looking at the sky, she sighed, nodding her head in agreement.

"What a shame. I was getting used to the sunshine." Her eyes wandered, observing the clouds. The wind started to pick up, blowing the clouds in their direction and swirling leaves over their heads. She picked up the pace slightly, leaving Spyro behind. His eyes roved to her tail for a second, but he exercised self-control and looked straight ahead. Thankfully, the redness in his cheeks went unnoticed.

They made a turn around a large building, a pair of moles nodding their heads at them in a friendly greeting. Returning the gesture, the two dragons smiled widely. It was a pleasure to be so well treated by the city.

_After all, we do kind of deserve it, _thought Spyro with a grin. As he smiled, Cynder looked over her shoulder at that moment, seeing Spyro's facial expression. She raised one eyebrow inquisitively.

"What are you smiling at?" She laughed. Embarrassed, Spyro shifted his eyes back and forth, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks.

"Nothing… I was just thinking of something, is all." His tail flinched nervously as she gave him a playful staredown. With a quick motion, she whirled around, making a step toward him. Slightly taken aback, he retreated, furrowing his brow with surprise.

"Thinking? What are you thinking about, hmm?" She pecked him on the tip of the snout, her emerald eyes connected to his. Playing along with her, Spyro hid a smile. He skipped off to the right, bumping into Cynder's side. Not expecting this move, she lost her balance, falling over. She pushed herself up nimbly, giggling as Spyro took off down the road, his face beaming at her expense.

"Very funny, Spyro!" The black dragoness set off in pursuit, keeping her sights glued on the purple dragon in front of her.

Soon, it became apparent that Spyro's heavier frame was not built for speed like Cynder's, and the dragoness gained on him, the tip of his tail touching her face. Spyro gasped, giving his best shot to stay ahead, but only managing to gain a few feet before she closed in on him again. As he looked back, Spyro realized that Cynder was right there on his right side, ready to pounce. Urging himself onto greater efforts, he concentrated on the ground directly in front of him. Strangely, Cynder began to slow down, flagging behind. When he saw this, an instinct told him to look up, and when he did, he saw a fountain only four running steps away.

Reacting with as much speed as he could muster, he halted his forward motion, tensing every muscle in his body as he slid on all fours. It only took a second for him to realize that it would not be enough to stop himself in time. With a last reflex, he hopped up, he pushed up off the ground with his hind legs, clearing the wall of the big fountain and comically falling into the water on the other side.

He soon resurfaced, splashing water all around the edge of the fountain. Slapping his forepaws onto the marble edge of the fountain, he pulled himself up, inhaling and exhaling rapidly. Cynder's mirthful laugh reached his ears, and he looked in her direction.

She was in a sitting position, watching him with amusement as water dripped off of his snout and onto the smooth marble below. Her giggle taunted Spyro, who looked back at her with a tired smile.

"How's the water?" Cynder arose from her sitting position, walking in a semicircle around the fountain, her face glowing. Spyro discreetly move his left paw back into the water with a smirk. Cynder noticed this, and stopped, the smile disappearing.

"Find out for yourself!" He punctuated the last syllable with a jolt of his arm, splashing water all over Cynder. She flinched, bringing her arm up to shield her face from the water. Eyes closed tightly, Cynder felt the water shower her jet black scales. Her lips parted into an "O", looking at the mischievous Spyro with a look of mock horror.

"Spyro!" She chided jokingly. This time, it was Spyro's turn to laugh as he gracefully hopped out of the fountain, profuse amounts of water running down his scales and creating a distinct spattering sound as they hit the marble stone of the courtyard.

"Sorry, couldn't help it, Cyn," he chuckled, wilting under her icy glare. The purple dragon walked over to an open spot, and shook himself dry from head to tail, drawing the attention of onlookers. Their curiosity at the strange scene was apparent, and it made both Spyro and Cynder uncomfortable. Spyro, still soaked, cocked his head in the opposite direction of the bystanders, a gesture for them to move away. She silently nodded her head, staying at his side as they walked away, leaving the observers behind to wonder just what the dragon couple had been doing. When they were out of sight, Cynder punched him softly on the shoulder.

"That's for splashing me with water," she stated matter-of-factly. Glancing to his side, he paused, and then hastily licked her cheek. Cynder's eyes widened with the welcome surprise, and Spyro chortled.

"Sorry, Cyn," he replied foxily. Unexpectedly, after hesitating for a minute, she responded by affectionately rubbing his neck with the side of her face. Liking the gesture, he leaned in, enjoying her company. Sadly, their moment together was interrupted as someone spoke behind them.

"So, how are you two lovebirds doing on this…not so fine day?"

Both dragons immediately recognized the voice and stopped walking simultaneously. Before they could turn to see who it was, they heard a buzzing sound, followed by a quick blur. Spyro shook his head at the interloper.

"You always come at the worst times, you know that?"

Sparx crossed his arms over his tiny chest, hovering in midair with his proportionally large wings. He responded nonchalantly, "No, I didn't know that. My bad." He cleared his throat before adding with a forced tone of friendliness, "I can see that things have been going well between you two."

Even though many years had gone by, the dragonfly's mild dislike for Cynder still remained, and it showed whenever he was around her. Cynder had gotten used to this, and had come accustomed to casually ignoring his jabs. Knowing this was the case, Spyro decided to mess with Sparx a bit by nuzzling Cynder with the tip of his snout, making her shut her eyes with relaxation. The dragonfly's smile faded somewhat as Spyro addressed him again.

"Yes, it has been going well. We've really gotten to know each other over the last year," he affirmed with another rub. "How have things been going with you?"

Sparx had an answer ready, his eyes rolling to the back of his head with annoyance. "I'll tell you what, it's been as boring as watching grass grow 'round here. I haven't been able to do much of anything, except for wander around the city." He flied in close to Spyro's face, irritability clear in his tone as he uttered dramatically, "…and did I also mention that I've memorized practically every inch of this place? I'm serious. You want me to give you the grand tour? Because, you know, I could do it…"

"No thank you, Sparx," Spyro declined, to Sparx's disappointment. "I am sorry to hear that you've been having such a terrible time, though."

Sparx couldn't tell if Spyro was teasing him or not, and the purple dragon's serious face gave nothing away. The dragonfly sulked.

"Yeah, thanks to you being with…her." He pointed at her with his left hand in a disapproving gesture. After he said this, Cynder exhaled deeply. Every time Sparx talked about her, he never said her name. However, the impersonal "her" he had just used was certainly better than the usual "it" and "thing" with which he used to refer to her only a year ago.

_At least he's showing signs of improvement, _Cynder thought to herself as Spyro retorted on her behalf.

"Aw, come on, Sparx. Lighten up a little! You know Cynder and I have been going steady for awhile, now. Why can't you just accept that?"

Sparx did not have an answer to this question. Zipping around Spyro's head as he and Cynder advanced forward, the dragonfly stated lamely, "I don't know. I guess it's a little fun for me."

This time it was Cynder's turn to pipe up, her eyes narrowed. "Look, Sparx… all I care is that you be civil with me. That means calling me by name. My _actual_ name. Not 'it'. Not 'thing'. _Cynder_. Got it?"

Scoffing shakily, Sparx buzzed away from her, apprehensive to her gaze. "Jeez… alright, alright, no need to get so touchy."

Realizing that her intimidating stare had paid off, Cynder relaxed the muscles in her face, still keeping her two emerald eyes on Sparx. Beside her, Spyro chuckled. The purple dragon cleared his throat, "Is there any other reason you came here other than to say hi, brother?"

Sparx hesitated. It took some time for him to finally shake his head. "Nope. Just thought I'd drop by since I saw you for the first time in… has it been a week?"

Spyro tried to recall, but with no cigar. "I have no idea. I've sort of lost track of the time for the past month or so. Life's been pretty slow since the moles built our little house on the edge of the upper city. Though…" he looked over to Cynder, "at the same time, the days seem to be going by quickly."

Sparx caught the romantic eye contact between Spyro and Cynder suppressing a gag. How they could have possibly arrived at this point of their relationship, he was not entirely sure, but who was he to get in the way? Understanding that the dragons probably wanted more time to be alone, he wisely made the choice to leave them be. Sparx's wings hummed audibly as he darted away to aimlessly wander the city once again, leaving the two lovers to converse with each other. Absent of a farewell, Sparx's exit went unnoticed by Spyro until after the disgruntled dragonfly was completely lost to sight. The purple dragon didn't worry about his brother's wordless departure, and continued his conversation with Cynder. A sizeable bolt of lightning interrupted them, however, and it was followed by a colossal boom of thunder that halted them in their tracks. They exchanged looks before Cynder suggested, "…Maybe we should head back to the house, Spyro."

He concurred as the sky darkened overhead, "Yeah. I guess we'd better."

They headed back to their cozy home with a considerably faster pace than they had left it as the thunderstorm barreled toward Warfang.

…

Rain and hail pelted Hunter as he hunched over, his cowl raised and trusty longbow drawn. His paws squished into the mud as the tree line came into view, the day turned into night by the black stormclouds overhead. There was no way he could see through the trees in this rain, so he moved very meticulously and carefully, not wanting to waltz into the middle of his enemies. Despairingly, Hunter assessed that the grublins would be moving faster than him, because they had no need to hide from anyone. Even though this was most likely the case, he could not risk traveling any faster, or else he may bump straight into them.

A particularly large lightning bolt struck a tree only a short distance away, punctuated by an ear splitting _crack _as a shower of sparks exploded out of the trunk. It was followed by a dull thud as the tree toppled over. A knot formed in Hunter's stomach as he commenced his steady pace again. With luck, the lightning wouldn't venture any closer, but the thought distressed him.

He grimaced as an uncommonly large hailstone pinged off of his shoulder, leaving a dull pain behind. Wincing, another one struck the top of his head, and was followed by another. Pretty soon, Hunter was forced to take cover under a cluster of tree branches, lessening the onslaught significantly. Frustrated, Hunter tarried there, wishing that the horrible hail would leave him in peace and permit him to move ahead.

_At least the grublins were likely to do the same thing, _he reasoned. Even the most mindless of creatures would not put up with the torment of the hail for very long, and if things went well, he could catch up to them as they took shelter, wherever they were. And, not requiring the night to conceal him any longer, Hunter could sneak past them, using the storm as cover. Perhaps this bad weather was useful for something after all!

Empowered by waves of optimism, Hunter started off, the hail lessening conveniently.

…

The hail began to let up around Korrow as well, replaced with a steady, soaking rain. Korrow had lost some circulation to his legs, a tingling sensation like sand in his feet and calves. Water was penetrating the small tent like rock, dripping onto the top of his hood. He shifted uncomfortably, lightning crashing all around him. Peeking through the crack in the rocks to his left, he noticed a little stream of water running down the incline of the hill. He hoped nothing like that would get into his temporary shelter; otherwise he'd be at the mercy of the storm.

However, Korrow had no such luck, the sudden surge of rain no longer able to penetrate the already wet soil. He first felt the water soaking into his hindquarters and footpaws, and before he knew it, the runoff water had reached his waist. Hurriedly, he pulled himself out of the no longer sufficient shelter and emerged from the crevice, finding little reprieve as the heavy rain saturated him from above. Miniature streams that were not around before the storm lay scattered all around him, dribbling down the hill. Korrow decided to just keep moving through the forest and trust that the lightning would keep its distance.

Forced into the elements, Korrow traipsed down the hill gradually, taking care not to slide down the muddy incline as he ventured deeper into the forest.

…

The party of grublins, as Hunter predicted, had taken residence underneath the branches in order to avoid the relentless pounding of the hail. Discontented grunts and squeals were drowned out by the whoosh of the downpour, which had miraculously lightened up compared to what it had been. Golinod, the goblin leader that had been appointed by Desraa listened to the guttural sounds of complaint issued from his troops with tired annoyance. They had not rested at all for a long time, and even on such simple creatures, the effect was noticeable. Malcontent soon led to violence in grublins, and dissent would be hard to quell, the goblin knew. Somehow, he would have to keep them under control.

The moment the hail stopped, he ordered his troops to arise. Reluctantly, they picked up any weapons they had dropped onto the ground and stood up, each of them wet to the bone. There was one, however, that remained still, his sword clutched tightly in his hand. Golinod, spying the rebel, grunted warningly, tensing his sword hand as he approached the seated grublin. When on two feet, the grublin stood far taller than Golinod, and he appeared ready to use his superior size to challenge the goblin leader's authority. Giving the grublin one last chance to obey, Golinod waited, grunting a command for him to get up in the creature's familiar language. Looking back at the much smaller goblin, the defiant grublin clumsily stood up. However, the goblin did not let his guard down yet, a sixth sense keeping him on the alert. In an angry movement, the wayward beast made a tragic mistake by raising its axe in a threatening gesture. Taking it as a threat, Golinod had no choice but to retaliate. Before the disobedient grublin could use his axe, the goblin leader drew a wicked looking sickle from its sheath, swinging it at the creature's exposed neck.

Golinod stared at the corpse as the pool of blood poured from the stump of the grublin's neck, mingling with the puddles of rainwater that formed on the ground. Those troops that observed the brutal killing retreated back a pace, even their violent, erratic minds surprised by what had taken place. Turning around, Golinod wiped the blade of his sickle on his thigh.

"Onward," he hissed in their unintelligible language. Seeing the dead body of the headless grublin, they followed the order without the slightest hesitation. Golinod nodded with satisfaction, relieved to see that his example had been effective. Moving double speed, the boorish group advanced through the forest, leaving behind the gruesome carcass of the rebellious grublin behind.

…

The thunderous booming of the storm became more distant, and the rain poured down with a lesser intensity than before. In a way, Hunter was grateful that the storm was starting to let up, but with that came a loss of his cover. Still, anything was better than that hail pelting him.

Behind him, fleeting rays of sunlight broke through the clouds, indicating that the end of the storm was approaching. Hunter grimaced, making haste in order to take full advantage of the storm's concealing rain. He was going to need all the help he could get to find Korrow without either of them being spotted.

That understanding brought Hunter to doubt in his abilities to find Korrow. First of all, he couldn't even be sure if Korrow was still in these woods, or if he had gone the other way, back to the wreckage of his little cottage. Furthermore, there was no way to know if the grublins would spot Korrow or not, and the more he speculated, the less likely it seemed to occur. Korrow could take care of himself, after all. He'd done it for years. Surely he could avoid this ragtag bunch…

"No." Hunter shook his head, angry with himself for entertaining such a vile thought. Here he was, making excuses to abandon Korrow, to just take the easy route and leave the rest to chance. But he wouldn't do it. He didn't care if Korrow never forgave him; he was going to make sure he was safe, even if that meant his death. There was nothing else left for him to do. Hunter would lay his life on the line to help a brother, and Korrow was the only brother he had left.

His spirit filled with newfound energy, Hunter hurried along through the forest.

…

Korrow was making slow time through the woods. His descent down the hill was made challenging by the slippery mud and water that eroded away any potential footholds. Forced to use his hands to stabilize himself, he gritted his teeth as he slid down the slope.

Finally, he reached the bottom, footpaws sloshing in the puddles that formed from the runoff. Even his thick, leather cloak was soaked right through and stuck uncomfortably to his fur. Layers of mud had formed on all of his clothing, and large raindrops that were too heavy to remain on the leaves above fell onto Korrow's head. The young cheetah flagged, weary from the hard travel and lack of food, but he pressed on. Oh, how he wanted to go home, to his cottage, to be protected from this blasted rain…

Grunting in exasperation, he kicked a puddle, water noisily splashing onto a sopping wet tree trunk. The wind and rain was at least beginning to die down, but the improving conditions did little to comfort him. He growled, crying out to the sky in protest, "Damn it all! Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

It was as though the profanity laced outburst had released a demon that had taken residence inside him, sapping him of all his energy. Out of breath, he plowed into a tree trunk arms first, resting his head on the bark of the tree as tears mingled with the rainwater already present on his face. Even though he tried to be tough, it was impossible to impede the tears, forcing him to wipe his eyes on his sleeve.

_Splish._ _Splosh._

Korrow's ear twitched sensitively as he picked up the out of place sound. Jogged out of his wallowing state, he listened carefully. Again, the noise.

_Splish, splash._

It took him a second to become apprehensive to what he was hearing. His breathing hastened, and his heart felt like it had risen to his throat.

_Squish, splash, splish. _It was closer this time. Korrow shuffled behind the big tree he was leaning on, his limbs stiff in fear. He was not alone in these woods.

The sound of feet squelching in the mud approached the tree where he was. Korrow didn't want to peek out and risk being spotted by whatever might be out in the woods, but his curiosity got the best of him. Gripping the bark of the tree with his claws, he leaned out with his back firmly pressed against the tree.

He saw nothing. Not daring to lean out more, he stayed perfectly still, his eyes wide with fright. The distinct noise continued, but from his vantage point, he could only tell what direction it was coming from.

The thunder rumbled farther away, and the rain turned into a light shower. Sunlight broke through the gloomy black clouds, and the wind began to subside to a breeze. With every second that passed by the footsteps became more noticeable, the rain failing to mask the sounds made by the mystery figure.

And then, just as the noise of the splashing footsteps neared the tree, they stopped abruptly. Korrow's hairs stood on end. Very faintly, he could hear what sounded like something sniffling.

Smelling the air.

He held his breath, paws quivering. Remaining motionless, his jaw muscles tensed until his teeth grated painfully together. The intruder began to move again, the squelching pop of the mud audible from behind the tree.

It was only a short distance from him now, the unwelcome presence advancing methodically toward him with each step. Had he been discovered? Perhaps, but there was no way to know for sure. His heart was fit to bursting, loud enough to make Korrow fear that he might be heard. Nonetheless, he kept himself from doing something unwise out of sheer panic.

Although he had no intention of revealing himself to the unexpected visitor, curiosity once again got the best of him. Careful to make sure he made no sudden movements, he peeked around the trunk.

Sure enough, only several meters away stood a grublin, grasping a spear in both hands as it waded through the mud. It looked around, searching the surroundings as it smelled the air for its prey.

Inhaling sharply, the young cheetah pulled back right away, heart racing. If there was one grublin here, there was sure to be more lurking in these woods. He gulped. If that grublin came any closer, he knew he would have to make a run for it. A bow and arrows wouldn't do much good against a spear at this range, and attempting to unshoulder his bow now would almost certainly result in being found. It was a no win situation. All he could hope for was to not be discovered.

Now the grublin was on the other side of the tree trunk, all of its simple mental processes focused on finding its quarry. Korrow's lungs felt like they would explode, but he didn't dare breathe out. Even the slightest sound would give him away.

The grublin was on more solid ground now as he stepped on the bulging roots of the tree Korrow used for cover. Inevitably, Korrow knew he would be found. Steeling his nerves, the young cheetah used his fear as fuel for action. Veins popped out of his neck, fists clenched as he prepared himself for what he would need to do.

If Korrow moved at all, his adversary would certainly see him. Still, he waited until the spearpoint was visible from where he stood before he made his move.

Korrow charged out, teeth bared as he attacked the grublin. Startled, the creature made a sloppy thrust at Korrow with his spear but Korrow nimbly sidestepped it, using his momentum to crash into the grublin with his shoulder. The smaller creature hurtled backward, slamming into a tree. The young cheetah, losing his balance due to the ferocity of the attack, stumbled over himself and landed clumsily in the mud. The shocked grublin screamed in pain as it peeled itself off of the treetrunk, stabbing at his fallen assailant with the stubby spear it carried, but Korrow was quick, leaping up from the ground and dodging the spearpoint as it zoomed toward him. The iron tip landed in the sopping wet earth, and Korrow stomped down on the shaft of the weapon. The creature howled as it the blunt end of the spear slammed down onto his foot, and a swift elbow into the side of the creature's head caused it to collapse onto the ground. Breathing hard, Korrow plucked the spear out of the ground, and without hesitation, plunged it into the grublin's chest. Thrashing around in its final death throes, he went limp, blood flowing freely over its body.

Glad to still be alive, Korrow unshouldered his bow, having no time to rest as more unearthly screeches rang out from the depths of the forest. His blood ran cold. The scuffle had been heard, and as he predicted, there were more lurking through the trees, and they were heading straight for him.

He fled, running faster than he ever had in his life, every sound emitted by the beasts behind him driving him onto greater efforts.

The hunt was afoot, and Korrow was the prey.

…

**Author's Note: I tried to sneak in as much time as I could to write this. So far, I haven't been discovered by my parents, but that could change in a second. So, if for some reason I cease to update ever again, it's because my parents found out about me writing this. Don't worry, though. Crow is a ninja. :D And if there are any spelling or grammar errors, I apologize. I kind of had to rush some of this chapter, otherwise it wouldn't have been updated until who know when. **

**On a random note, I'm trying to improve my writing style a bit, because to me, it's starting to get a little bland. I hope there was a noticeable difference in this chapter, but I dunno. **

**So, it's been awhile since we've seen our two favorite dragons in this! To be honest, they are not going to be the main focus of the first half of this story, but once things **_**really **_**start heating up, they'll become main characters. **

**And yes, I ended yet another chapter in a cliffhanger. I just can't help myself. Heh. **

**Please, review! **


	13. The Chase

It wasn't long until bestial squeals resonated through the expansive forest, reaching Hunter's ears. Immediately, he knew what was making them. His heart stopped. Years of experience told him that could mean only one thing; they had found something.

"Korrow," he whispered. The grublins had found Korrow. The young cheetah wouldn't stand a chance against them. He had to help him!

Yanking an arrow out of his quiver, Hunter notched it onto his bowstring, and without taking any precautions, the cheetah bolted off, ready to fight at a moment's notice.

…

The war cries of the enemy were ever nearer as they gained on Korrow. Despite his youth, the young cheetah's endurance proved to be inferior to the energy supplied by the maniacal blood thirst of the grublins, and in a minute they became visible over his shoulder. Picking up the pace, he jumped over a rock that stuck out in front of him, landing with catlike grace on the other side.

The storm was almost completely past, and the sun's intense rays sliced through the thinning layer of clouds like a knife in butter. As Korrow ran further, the trees began to thin out, allowing for the golden beams to shine more fervently through the foliage. However, Korrow did not have time to enjoy the scene. A high pitched shriek caused him to whip his head around, and to his terror, he saw one particularly fast grublin directly behind him, primed to stab Korrow in the back. Yelling in exertion, Korrow ducked under a thick tree branch, but just then a plan dawned on him. Doing a 180 degree turn, he grabbed the end of the branch, peeled it back and released it with one fluid motion. The unobservant creature never knew what hit him as the tree branch slapped into his forehead, knocking him out stone cold. The sword, held loosely, flew out of his hand, clattering harmlessly on top of a nearby boulder. Not pausing to see the damage he caused, Korrow kept on running, the howls and endless chatter of his pursuers becoming deafening.

All of a sudden, Korrow's ear twitched as a projectile zipped past his cheek. His fur prickled in pure terror as he recognized the outline of a crossbow bolt embedded in the tree in front of him. Desperate to avoid being shot, he weaved left and right, thankful for the outstretched branches that made him a harder target.

A fine mist was all that remained of the rain now, and the distance between Korrow and his pursuers shrank by the second, potential cover around him diminishing greatly as the trees became more spaced out. Immediately following this was a sudden downhill drop. Unprepared, Korrow's tired legs gave out from the stress that the downhill descent inflicted upon them, and the young cheetah's footpaws slipped out from underneath him. Falling hard onto his back, he slid down the muddy hill. Rocks lay in front of him, and a cry of pain escaped his throat as his back collided with the side of a big, flat slab. Reaching up with both arms, his claws dug into the slippery slime in an attempt to slow himself, but it was no use as his right leg scraped against the edge of a razor like stone. In place of a scream came a breathless gasp of pain, but he ignored the injury, concentrating on making it down the hill. When he reached the bottom, he slammed into the ground, legs sinking ankle deep into the gooey substance. With a loud pop, Korrow yanked his foot out of the mire, only having enough time to glance at the bloody gash on his right leg before getting back onto his feet.

Now, a loud whooshing sound was audible, and Korrow recognized the familiar cacophony without even having to think. There was a river nearby, and judging from the amount of noise it was producing, the water was very high. Tucking this knowledge away in the back of his mind, Korrow hurdled over a rotten log, covered from head to toe in mud, blood and water.

…

Golinod's men, in spite of their motivation to kill, were significantly slowed down by the steep hill, and within the span of only one minute, they had gone from hard on their quarry's heels to much farther behind. Shouting at his troops in their barbaric language, the goblin placed both feet firmly onto the hill before shuffling down carefully, even his limited mental capacity able to understand that a slip up would lead to serious injury. The cloaked cheetah was no longer visible, and his men were not yet at the bottom of the hill. Golinod bared his fangs in rage, not willing to let his prey escape.

When they finally made it to the bottom, there was no longer any obstacle for the grublins to overcome. With fantastic speed they rushed after their persistent quarry, every running step only feeding their lust for the cheetah's blood. Golinod screamed out to his troops.

"Get after the cheetah! I want his head!"

…

It was impossible to escape them, thought Korrow. He was not fast enough to flee from them for much longer, and there was no way he could fight them all. He was going to die in this forest.

Frenzied tears clouded his vision as the realization of his doom hit him in the chest. Nothing he could do would prevent his death in this miserable place. Fighting for breath, Korrow clutched a hand to his chest as a tight cramp knotted up underneath his ribcage. His energy was spent, and his legs no longer had the same spring they had formerly contained. To make matters worse, he stumbled over a rock, losing his footing and tripping over his injured leg before hitting a shallow puddle below. Some of the mud and dirt splashed into his leg wound, creating a fiery sensation that traveled all the way up his body. Gritting his teeth in agony, Korrow pushed himself up from the soggy earth with both his arms and his legs, yowling as a wave of pain traveled from the deep slice on his calf to his hip.

And yet, in the face of his wounds, Korrow nonetheless wanted every minute remaining in his life to be concentrated on delaying the inevitable. He wasn't going to lie down and die, and he certainly wasn't going to go down without taking as many of the beasts with him as he was able to. Eyes still dripping tears, the determined cheetah doggedly carried on through his many afflictions, blood coagulating over his leg and footpaw.

Pulling out an arrow from his quiver, Korrow held it point first in his hand as he scampered around the innumerable trees, hearing a steady high pitched wail from behind as his enemies grew closer. The downhill drop had only briefly stalled them, but once they had made it to the bottom, it became apparent that it was only a matter of time before Korrow was tracked down and killed. Korrow, fully aware of what would become of him, sacrificed speed in order to fasten the arrow's flight onto his bowstring. The fight, however short it may be, was about to commence.

At last, Korrow could run no further. Fatigue overwhelmed his body, and he made the last few running steps he could muster before turning about, facing the general direction his enemy would arrive from. Catching his breath, he leaned against a tall, broad tree trunk. The bow in his hand shook visibly, and cold sweat poured from his brow. Repressing fear, Korrow got into a firing stance, bowstring bent slightly to allow for an easier draw when the time came to shoot.

Korrow heard the grublins advancing long before he saw them. Waiting with baited breath, indistinct flurries of movement between the branches caught his perceptive eyes. Judging from the number of grublins he saw, there wouldn't be much time for him to put up a fight before he was overwhelmed. In fact, he was practically committing suicide by staying here, but the morbid reality of his predicament caused him to laugh weakly. It didn't make a difference if he ran away or if he stayed to fight. He was going to die anyway.

The gap between Korrow and the grublins shortened, and he could see their bodily outlines clearly. Gradually, Korrow drew the arrow back on his bowstring. He couldn't fire until he had a clear shot, but the foliage made it challenging to find one. It appeared as though the grublins hadn't actually seen him yet due to his placement against the tree. Planning to use this to his advantage, Korrow took aim, aligning the point of the arrow with his eye and keeping an approaching grublin in his sights.

Here it was. The last moments he would be on earth. Arms shaking, he bit his lip so hard that it bled. Absent of grace, the ugly creature he was aiming at leapt over a log, spear held in its right hand. Fangs bared with grim determination, Korrow brought the arrow to full draw until it reached his left ear. The muscles in his arm tensed up, keeping the arrow steady.

Time itself seemed to slow down. Concentrating, all sounds around him faded away until the thumping of his heartbeat was all that remained. Images from his memory flashed past his eyes. The cottage up in smoke, the flames dancing on the hilltop…

He loosened his grasp on the arrow, about to fire…

A faint hiss was followed by a traveling blur to Korrow's left, which caused him to stop to his fingers from letting go of the arrow. Korrow watched as the grublin set in his sights tumbled over, its animal-like groan cut short. As it collapsed, the arrow that killed it became visible, protruding from the creature's back. Dumbfounded, Korrow froze with his eyebrows raised, left to wonder where the arrow came from. A few moments passed before Korrow aimed at a new target, recovering from the shock, but as soon as he was about to release his shot, another arrow came from nowhere, striking the beast in the neck. Doing a flip from the momentum of its forward progress, it crashed into a tree with a muffled shriek.

Almost instantaneously, every grublin shifted their direction, and turned their heads to face the enemy that was firing upon them, screeching with fury. Mind ever racing, Korrow knew that he was not spotted yet, and it looked like every grublin that had been chasing him was moving after a new target. Not able to believe his luck, he leaned beside the tree, relaxing the bow string and hoping for dear life that he would not too be seen.

Who was firing from the other direction? Should he just make a break for it? Whoever started shooting had just saved his life, and it must have been intentional. But who…?

It was Hunter. There was nobody else it could be. Somehow, for some reason, Hunter had pursued him through the forest and was now being attacked by the very same grublins that were chasing him only a moment ago.

The grublins, having no idea that they were running after a different cheetah, passed Korrow by, high pitched wails sending shivers up Korrow's spine. Wisely, Korrow hopped behind the tree, making himself completely invisible in the rare case one of the grublins looked in his direction.

The sounds diminished. Now was his chance to escape. Everything within Korrow desired to use this impossible opportunity to get away.

So why weren't his limbs obeying him?

Korrow had no need to ask himself this question. It was clear why he couldn't move himself. Something didn't feel right about running away from a friend…

_Friend? Is this the friend that threatened your life and threw you away? The friend that abandoned you, hated you, and disowned you? _

Rooted in place, Korrow stared at a leaf that hung overhead in silent contemplation. Recalling the pure wrath in Hunter's eyes, the firelight of his village reflecting off his pupils, the knife gleaming in his hand…and yet…

Hunter did all of those things, it was true. But what truly mattered wasn't the past, but the present. And right now, Hunter was sacrificing himself to save him, of all things.

Whether it be foolishness or valor no one could ever tell, but that day Korrow did the unexpected. He left the safety of his cover, and instead of fleeing, set after the grublins at a breakneck pace.

…

Hunter whisked another arrow in between a pair of trees, and mechanically pulled out another arrow from the quiver and placed it onto his bowstring. Always agile, the cheetah kept his balance on a tall rock that lay in the middle of a large outcropping of boulders and stones, giving the appearance of a maze, and let loose another arrow at the fast approaching mob

Due to the minimal time spent aiming, it hit one creature's leg. With a scream, it toppled over, crashing into the grublin in front of him and piercing its back with the spear it carried. Not wasting any time to see what damage he had done, Hunter sent three more arrows down in rapid succession, grimacing briefly when one of his shots sank into a tree. There wouldn't be any way to take them all out, but an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction and the knowledge that his mission had been successful outweighed any despair he might have felt, even in such a dire event. Korrow's escape was all that mattered to him now.

The battle became more deadly as a faint smack sounded from the forest in front. Thankfully, Hunter's cat reflexes saved him as he ducked below an incoming crossbow bolt, the stubby projectile hissing past his head before it was lost to sight behind him. The arrow was a message to Hunter that he was no longer safe where he was at. Quickly, he shot one more arrow while on top of the rock before he leapt off of it, knowing that if he stayed there he would be a sitting duck for enemy fire.

Golinod growled as another grublin fell, transfixed by an arrow. So far, more than half a score of grublins had fallen to the cloaked escapee. This was an observation that infuriated the goblin. Not eager for any more losses, Golinod urged his troops to move faster with a simple command, "Kill him! Don't let him get away!"

Hunter heard the infuriated goblin leader from behind, and realized just how close they really were. In less than a minute, they would easily cut off his escape, surround him, and butcher him. And, if he wished to make it out of this labyrinth of rocks, he would have to virtually run into the grublins that were approaching. And even if he managed to fight his way through, there would likely be no escape from a grublin wielding a crossbow that would shoot him down in the open.

Escape was a futile effort, but he was going to try anyway.

The rocks went on for several hundred meters, lining the base of the forested mountain. Hunter zigzagged between the crevices in the rocks, only having a sense of which direction he was moving and nothing else.

And then, just as Hunter ran through a spacious gap in between the rocks, he saw the black moving blur of a creature to the left. He groaned, knowing that he was about his encounter with the mob was about to begin.

Trying to avoid being trapped against the rock walls, Hunter headed up the hill, trying to make it to the far edge of the rocky maze. In order to stay balanced, Hunter leaned forward as he bolted up the hill, pawpads making distinct tracks in the muddy soil. These tracks would make it an impossibility to try and hide from his pursuers, he realized. There was nothing else for it but to head for the roaring rapids of the river.

Fixing another arrow onto his bow, Hunter ran across the steep slope, ankles crying out from the stress that was being exerted on them. Paying no heed to the aching, Hunter remained on the same level, securing an uphill advantage. Every chance he could get some sort of upper hand on his enemies would serve to boost his slim chances of survival. That is, if there was any chance at all.

The first grublin emerged from the rocks, armed with a sword and small wooden shield. With amazing skill, Hunter whisked an arrow at the unlucky creature as he ran. It sank in to the depth of the feather flight, straight into the creature's chest. Spinning from the force of the impact, it crumpled to the ground, its scream the last thing it would utter.

Hunter made another arrow ready, aware that he was running low on ammunition. To his peril, four more of the hideous monsters came rushing toward him, raising their weapons for the kill. With unmatched speed, Hunter's arm worked like a machine, taking a split second to aim and fire two more arrows at the fast approaching group. The forerunners were slain in seconds, but the other two kept coming. Fighting for his life, the cheetah was only able to kill one more before the fourth was upon him.

Hunter saw the axe, and with fantastic balance, sidestepped it. The grublin stumbled forward from the weight of the weapon, and before he could pry it out of the dirt, Hunter had removed the boot knife he carried from its concealed sheath and stabbed it into the grublin's bony neck. Gurgling, it dropped like a log, blood streaming down its body. Keeping the knife at the ready, he turned tail and fled.

To his misfortune, however, the going only got steeper, and it became clear that he would not be able to keep his footing. Shuffling athletically, Hunter's footpaws chucked up an abundant amount of mud as he slid down. With a mighty leap, Hunter made it over the bottom portion of the hill, coming down hard on the slippery surface. Only his strong legs made him able to stay on his own two paws, and he re-entered the labyrinth of stones.

The high pitched wails of the grublins were all around him, and before he knew it, yet another one was visible behind him. Not able to fire behind him in these close quarters, he kept the bow gripped like a vise in his left paw, focusing his attention on not letting the bow get caught between two stones as he turned his body, leaping into a narrow gap between the two enormous rocks and landing with a wet thud on the other side. Scrambling to his feet, Hunter ran pell-mell away from his enemy. The grublin behind him attempted to jump through the gap in a similar fashion, but failed, its spear getting stuck in the rock. Hunter had no time to feel gratitude, only to concentrate on prolonging his life in order to lead the overwhelming force away from Korrow.

…

Following after the blood curdling sounds of the hunt, Korrow soon found the expansive area of rocks in which Hunter was currently traversing. Making a beeline, he ran parallel to them, trying to come out ahead of the crowd. Though he tried, it was obvious that he would have a very hard time keeping up with the bloodthirsty grublins due to his fatigue and injuries. Even so, he wasn't going to quit.

The whooshing roar of the river up ahead amplified, confirming Korrow's suspicions. The river was going to be too high to cross. It was as if everything that could possibly go wrong was occurring. His savior, who was almost certainly Hunter, would be trapped with a wall of grublins on one side of him, and a frothing rapid on the other. Essentially, he would either drown, or be hacked to bits.

Wheezing through clenched teeth, Korrow placed a hand on his ribs, a burning cramp forming in his side. Still, he didn't let his injuries and fatigue get in the way, due to the familiar stubborn determination powering him on, past the limits his body tried to impose on him. There was simply nothing else left to keep him moving.

With an absence of grace, Korrow fumbled over fallen branches and rotten logs, fighting despondency that tried to take him hostage. In fact, he didn't even know what he was going to do if he ever caught up to Hunter's pursuers, but he ran nonetheless. He was going to have to do a lot of improvisation when he reached the river.

…

A grassy strip of land opened up as Hunter emerged from the rocks, arrow once again notched onto his bowstring as he fled. Hard on his heels were Golinod's forces. Hunter looked over his shoulder, and to his horror, saw a crossbow bolt zooming straight for him. It was too late to dodge it, and a scream escaped his throat as it struck him in the right shoulder. A burning pain lanced through his entire upper body, and all feeling went away in his right arm as the muscle was severed. He couldn't use his bow and arrows any more, he realized with panic.

The crossbow bolt still lodged in his shoulder blade, he moved on, blocking out the pain with all he could muster. As a reflex, his right arm bunched up at his side as the muscle closed around the wound, and sticky, warm blood seeped out of the hole and down his back. Paying no mind to the arrow sticking out of his back, he vaulted up and over a flat rock, and unable to use his right arm, he shuffled awkwardly over it, pushing himself up with his left arm and coming down crookedly on the other side. Another crossbow bolt pinged off the top of the rock, deflected off into the woods. Yet another one buried itself in a tree right next to Hunter.

It was miraculous that Hunter even made it to the forest without being shot down, the only reason for his luck being that the grublins were terrible shots. Still, it only took one well-placed arrow to kill him, and if he became trapped in the open like he had been before, he wouldn't have luck on his side.

A spasm in the muscle around his wound sent excruciating pain down his back and right arm. Grunting, he clenched his hand involuntarily, squeezing the bow like a vise. His body pleaded with him to stop moving his injury. Evil vermin flooded the trees, snarling viciously as their quarry came into view and forcing Hunter to ignore his body's cries of protest.

Mingling in with the racket of the mob behind him was the rushing of water ahead. He was almost there, but there was a new problem. The rains would have made the river much deeper than usual, and the already audible thunderous boom of the water crashing into rocks only confirmed this fact. He cursed. There was no escape.

Golinod heard the river, too. Right away, he understood what would happen to the persistent cheetah when they reached the river. A shout of encouragement was combined with a whirl of his sword, "We've got him trapped! Kill him!"

The order reached Hunter's ears, doubling his efforts to get away. But, in the end, he knew there would be no means of escape. The cheetah had to fight his emotions in order not to panic in this hopeless situation.

At least Korrow was safe now, he remembered. The thought brought a thin smile to his lips. It was a bittersweet feeling.

Lungs heaving, Hunter finally saw the foliage above him peel away, unveiling the blue sky above. The river was fast approaching…

Without any warning, the ground disappeared several paces in front of him, a steep drop off into the raging waters below. Hunter's keen eyes spotted the edge of the land before it was too late to react. Both of his legs stopped moving entirely, but as he slid over the ground, the mud made it difficult to get enough traction to stop his forward motion. Always a fast thinker, Hunter twisted to the side, leaning backwards and dropping down into the ankle high mud with immense force, just missing the crossbow bolt which jutted out of his shoulder blade and stopping himself just before he slipped off. The force of the fall sent his bow out of his weakened grasp, and it fell over the edge and into the fast moving stream, sucked into the current and lost to sight. Excruciating pain exploded from his shoulder as the impact jarred his body, and this time, the agony was too much to simply ignore. A breathless groan escaped from between clenched teeth, but he somehow kept his focus in spite of the affliction of pain and stood, using his good arm to push his battered body up.

There were many indistinguishable blurs of grublins vanishing and reappearing from behind trees. The sound of the river combined with the bedlam of the grublin army was deafening. Unconsciously, Hunter stopped down to pick up his bow, but to his dismay, it was no longer there. It had dropped out of sight, into the whitewater.

The boot knife was clenched tight in Hunter's left hand. He knew he was going to die if he stayed here to fight. But, suddenly he was struck with an idea. Despite the depth of the water below, and the sharp rocks that could tear him to shreds, he knew that, just maybe, there would be a slim chance of survival if he jumped.

Knees still bent into a fighter's stance, Hunter froze. Only two options remained; fight, or jump. The first, a certain death, and the latter, a tiny chance of making it out alive. The choice was easy.

Golinod spied Hunter between openings in the trees, facing his army, a knife at the ready. Laughing, Golinod encouraged his forces, "Move in! Give me his head, grublins!"

And right at that moment, Hunter stuck the knife into his boot, turned, and without hesitation, leapt off the ledge and plummeted into the frothy rapids below.

…

**Author's Note: Finally, it's done! Hallelujah! **

**Sorry for the ridiculous wait on the update, folks. It takes me a long time to ninja write chapters. And also, it seems to reduce the quality of my writing as well. When you're sneaking paragraphs in when nobody's looking, it doesn't give you as much time for thought. As a result, I feel like this chapter is really crappy for some reason. I might just be stupid, but I dunno. **

**Soon, chapters are going to begin to get longer as well. Unfortunately, that means even LONGER updates. Blargh. **

**Peace out~ **


	14. Determination

Golinod's eyes widened, his cat like pupils expanding as his quarry turned tail and jumped off the high banks of the river. "No!"

But it was too late for his forces. Golinod skidded to a halt, searching the rapids for the elusive cheetah, but he was nowhere to be found. The goblin bared his sharp teeth, enraged by his failure to kill the cheetah. With further examination of the river, however, he realized that the jump was a suicide. The pointy and widespread rocks that churned the water formed a deadly impasse, one that seemed impossible to survive.

Still, he and his grublins had traveled all this way with little time to rest, chased their quarry through difficult terrain, and suffered dozens of casualties, only to have their prey jump into the river like a coward. They had come all this way, only to have their thirst for blood unsatisfied.

Golinod turned around, noticing the exasperation on the grublin's faces. Their tiny brains had only begun to process what happened, and now that they were beginning to understand, it became obvious they were angry. They were worked into a lust for blood, and now, there was nothing to satisfy that lust. It was a dangerous situation.

The goblin commander sensed this, and knew he was in trouble. Trying to assert his leadership, he spoke to them, "We go back to the Catacombs. The cheetah is dead."

The simple orders sank in, but nobody moved. Golinod waited a few seconds, but when he saw that the grublins were just staring at him with their black, beady eyes, he grew more nervous. Trying to spur the grublins into action, he shouted in their own language, "What are you waiting for? I said go back!"

Some grublins near the front of the group hesitated, but turned around. Following the grublins in the front, the rest did the same, and began moving away from the edge of the river and back the way they came, but with noticeably much less vigor than they had arrived.

…

All sound dropped away with a whoosh as Hunter plunged into the abyss of water. Before he entered the water, he sucked in one last breath, filling his lungs with fresh air before he was lost to sight under the water.

Everything was cold and dark around him, but he could feel his body being pulled by the current. Suddenly, his back collided with the bottom of the river, coming in contact with the crossbow bolt in his shoulder blade. Bubbles erupted from his mouth, a soundless yell of panic and pain, but keeping his senses, he closed his mouth before any significant amounts of water flooded in. Feeble against the current, Hunter kicked his feet, trying to reach the surface, but an invisible force pulled him back down and dragged him across the rocky bottom of the river. Then, all of a sudden, his body shot to the surface, and his head broke free from the whitewater's deadly embrace. Taking the opportunity to breathe, Hunter inhaled sharply, while at the same time, taking a quick peek at his surroundings.

It was a calmer section of the river, although it still had a strong current. Treading water, Hunter looked over his shoulder at the scene behind him. A look of relief flashed on his features as he saw the smattering of boulders and rapids that raged behind him. Somehow, he made it past near certain death. Every breath he took was the result of a miracle.

And then, just as he began to give thanks, the rivers' current yanked him downriver. The water unpredictably turned violent again, foaming as it became shallower. Hunter had no time to process what was happening, only to have enough time to register the ear splitting boom of the river as it crashed into another pool of water… fifty meters below.

Frantic, Hunter tried to swim back against the river current with his good arm, but it was futile. The river was too strong to resist. Hunter A scream of terror was drowned out by the crashing of the waterfall as Hunter was launched over the edge, plummeting like a stone into the pool below.

…

Korrow's fast gait had been exchanged for a limp as he exhaustively moved toward the river. He coughed, clutching his lower abdomen with his hand as his breathing became more inconsistent. There was no way he could reach the river in time to help Hunter in his condition.

He slowed down to a lumbering jog, placing a hand on a pine tree beside him as his lungs screamed for oxygen. However, a grunt of pain escaped him as his body weight pressed down on his gashed leg, and he stood up, leaning on his good leg and hobbling through a slim opening in the trees. The young cheetah could hear the rush of the rapids, so close by, yet so far away. A salty tear dribbled out of his eye, a result of the fire in his leg, and his failure to help Hunter. He was helpless.

Suddenly, a blood curdling scream rang out, barely audible over the constant boom of the high waters, but present nonetheless. Korrow's finely tuned sense of hearing picked it up before it ended abruptly, washed out by the rapids. Afraid, Korrow picked up his pace, making a valiant effort to walk forward while struggling to keep his balance.

Then, movement in the trees caught his eye. He turned, but felt his blood run cold at the smattering cacophony of feet against the leaves and twigs of the forest floor. Always a quick thinker, Korrow found a fallen tree a couple of meters in front of him and dove behind it, pressing the side of his face into the mud and stretching his legs out to keep them concealed behind the trunk of the tree.

The grublins did not see Korrow as they trekked through the muddy forest, lacking all of their former energy. The young cheetah peeked over the tree trunk, watching the grublins make their way slowly back through the woods, their weapons held lazily. Korrow didn't want to look any longer for risk of being seen, and popped back down behind the fallen tree.

He fought the tears that wanted to fall from his eyes. The grublins had gotten there first, and Hunter was undoubtedly killed.

Korrow did not want to see Hunter's body, hacked to ribbons by the grublins, but the young cheetah was determined to bury his friend regardless. Still, the thought gave him no comfort. He was truly alone in this world.

He would have let himself cry, had it not been for the noise of the grublins still present in the distance.

When the sound of their footsteps receded, Korrow peered over the tree again to make sure they were no longer there before he got back up, stumbling slightly on his bad leg.

The water's roar made it impossible to hear anything else when Korrow finally reached the river bank. Korrow scanned the bank of the river for Hunter's body, eyes still roving behind him in case some grublins still lingered. He searched, but Hunter was nowhere in sight.

_It must be further upstream, _the young cheetah reasoned. Testing his theory, he limped upriver, looking far ahead.

Korrow searched the riverside for several minutes, his efforts slowed considerably by his injured leg, which was bothering him now more than ever before. His teeth gritted together with frustration.

_Hunter had to be here somewhere, _thought Korrow. _But where…?_

Then, something unusual caught his eye, not too much further ahead. It was discoloration in the earth, a light brown blotch in the dark brown mud surrounding it. Korrow approached it, examining it with an inquisitive stare.

The discoloration was an indistinctly shaped depression in the mud, about ankle deep. Korrow groaned with sullen realization; Hunter's body had been right here, lying in this spot. The grublins caught up with Hunter, surrounded him, and killed him, and judging from the empty spot in the mud, took his body with them. Rage welled up inside the battered and exhausted cheetah at the thought of such a thing.

But, then again, something seemed amiss about the whole thing. Initially, Korrow couldn't quite put a finger on it…

Suddenly, he understood why. There was no blood on the ground where Hunter's body had been. If Hunter was killed by the grublins, there would definitely be blood at the scene.

He couldn't have been killed, then. Unless…

Korrow's eyes wandered to the river, roaring a short distance below where he stood. He groaned.

The grublins didn't kill Hunter. Hunter slipped and fell into the river. Korrow shook his head at his own stupidity. How did he not realize this sooner?

Now that he knew this, he started the long trek back downriver. The gash on his right leg screamed in protest, but he ignored it, fighting the pain. The young cheetah had even greater determination to find Hunter than before. It was unlikely that Hunter survived the rapids, but in the slim chance he did survive, Korrow needed to be there.

The sun was beginning to fall well below the noon level in the sky, shining on the right side of Korrow's face and making it hard to see across the river without blocking the sunlight with his hand. He glanced into the river. The frothing whitewater rapids subsided into a fast moving stream, aquamarine in color. Korrow scanned the river once again, but not surprisingly, there was still no sign of his friend in the water.

Further downstream, an immense booming noise was heard. It was quite sudden, arriving without any warning at all. Korrow squinted, lifting a paw over his eyes to block out the sun as he looked far downriver.

His mouth opened in shock at what he saw. There was a waterfall ahead, a _big_ one.

Disregarding his injury, Korrow picked up the pace, putting more weight on his injured leg and jogging awkwardly until he neared the waterfall. When he was almost there, Korrow reduced his speed, approaching straight vertical cliffside. He leaned over, taking a look at what was below, unable to hear anything besides the furious whoosh of cascading water pounding the deep pool underneath it relentlessly. To his chagrin, much of the pool was not visible from his vantage point, so he could not tell if Hunter was there.

Knowing what he had to do, Korrow gulped. Without a doubt, Hunter had fallen off of this waterfall. One way or another, Korrow was going to have to climb down the side of the cliff if he was going to reach the base of the falls, not only in order to find Hunter, but also, so he could find a place in the river that wouldn't drag him away with the current so he could cross.

It was going to be a lot of trouble getting there, though…

Steeling his nerves for the task ahead of him, Korrow started to analyze the ledge for potential footholds. Reaching the bottom of the waterfall was a feat that was going to take some time beforehand to find the best possible route down, the young cheetah knew. One of the worst things that could happen while climbing was to be stranded at a dead end.

Luckily, there appeared to be an abundance of footholds. Korrow nodded his head, pleased.

_This should be easy enough, _thought Korrow. But, when taking into account the wide cut on his leg, he knew deep down that it was going to be a very risky descent. However, it was a risk he was going to take. He had no other options to choose from.

Korrow took a deep breath, re-mapping out the path he was going to take down the cliff. The cheetah had some experience with climbing in the past, but nothing of this magnitude. One fall, and he was done for.

Trying not think about how high up he was, Korrow turned about, edging his footpaws over the edge of the precipice while sliding carefully on his belly, most of his body weight placed on his left side. Gradually, he slid over the cliff, gripping onto the rocky edge with both paws while feeling around for his first foothold. When his left paw grazed the rock, he gently let himself push down onto it, testing its strength. It didn't give, so Korrow trusted it to support his body weight, standing on it with his left leg while letting his bad leg dangle. Hanging onto the edge for dear life, Korrow found another place to put his left paw. Cautious, he reached down to grab it.

Very steadily, Korrow descended down the face of the cliff, taking care to use his good leg to support most of his weight. Finding a crack in the rock under him, Korrow placed his left footpaw into the slit gingerly, and then shuffled down a bit more by setting his right foot onto a boulder that stuck out of the cliff.

It was slow going, but eventually, the painstaking climbing method brought him halfway down the cliffside . But, just as he was beginning to get the hang of it, a new dilemma presented itself; he couldn't find another foothold.

Keeping as calm as he could, Korrow surveyed the cliff for any other footholds he could reach from where he was, but nothing came into view. Fear entered his senses, and he gritted his teeth with frustration and annoyance. There had to be another way to get down…

Since he couldn't find anything underneath him to use, Korrow looked to both of his sides. To his right, a big crevice presented itself, but it was well out of arm's reach. Beside the crevice, the young cheetah could discern a way to make it further over, and possible over to a place where he could move further down the cliff. The climb looked treacherous, but it was the only way.

In order to make it to the first crevice, Korrow needed to pull himself back up the cliff and put his paws into the crevice while still maintaining at least one foothold. For someone already as tired as he was, it was a daunting task.

He tensed the muscles in his left leg, preparing to push himself up with it, while at the same time, pulling the rest of his frame high enough so he could stick his right paw into the crevice.

With a shout, he pushed himself up with his left leg, reaching out desperately for the crevice, but his hand missed its target, and he fell back down to where he was. But, as his left footpaw slammed back down onto the rock which served as his foothold, it slipped from the force of the impact, and he cried out in shock, leaning back involuntarily and nearly falling down with the momentum.

Sharp pain exploded in Korrow's bad leg, which was now supporting all of his body weight. Howls of anguish rang out over the sound of the waterfall. Korrow nearly went insane from the pain, on the verge of complete panic, but somehow, even though the horrendous fire blazed in his leg, the young cheetah kept mental focus.

Screaming in agony, Korrow pushed up on his remaining foothold with his injured leg, jaw tightening in an effort to fight the brutal pain that shot up his leg like a lance.

Finally, his body became level with the cliffside, and he found his old foothold, not hesitating to put his left footpaw back down onto it.

Hot tears sprang from the young cheetah's eyes, temporarily blurring his vision. Unable to wipe them away, Korrow let them course down his cheeks, shuddering violently.

Salty tears were indistinguishable with the sweat pouring down his face. He stood at that spot, rooted in place as he cried and sobbed. The pain was excruciating, but after several minutes, the flame grew less intense, and Korrow was able to think clearly again.

Weakened and fatigued, Korrow pressed his torso against the rock wall, breathing heavily. There was no way he would be able to bare any more pain like that, he determined with a rueful grimace. Nevertheless, the desire to finish what he had started commanded him onto greater efforts, and this time, he wasn't going to let his footpaw slip.

Fearful, Korrow readied himself for another grueling try at reaching the crack in the rock. Assuring his left footpaw was firmly in place on the tiny boulder this time, Korrow reached upward with his right paw while thrusting upward with his left leg, leaving only his left paw left on the cliff.

The second Korrow's right paw slipped into the crack, sharp claws latched deeply into the rock, establishing a sufficient grasp in order to pull himself up. Korrow's legs dangled precariously, hanging only by his two paws on the cliff.

Inhaling and exhaling rapidly, Korrow spied the next place to set his right paw, and taking a huge risk, the young cheetah howled in exertion, letting go of the cliff with his left paw and hastily setting it into the wide crack.

Now, he had to shuffle his paws over to the right until the other pawhold was within reach. Hanging on for his life, the young cheetah slid his right paw down the crevice horizontally, and followed after it with his left until his right paw reached the end of the crack.

To his annoyance, Korrow could tell that the other pawhold was slightly out of reach. He rolled his eyes.

Arms ever tired, Korrow realized he had little time to spare. Losing grip would equate instant death at this height.

Developing a plan of action, Korrow slid his left paw down until it was touching his right, and he eyed his target with intense concentration, and set his right hand free from the crevice.

For a brief time, he hung by only one arm, the rest of his body weight dragging him down hazardously. Without the slightest pause, Korrow swung like a pendulum over to the rock that jutted out of the cliff, slapping his right paw hard onto the top of it with an audible _smack!_

A grunt escaped his lungs as he performed the dangerous maneuver. But he wasn't out of the woods just yet. He couldn't hold onto the wall just using his hands forever, and if he was going to get down this cliff in in relative safety, he was going to need to find a place to rest his footpaws, and fast.

Using great caution, Korrow kept climbing to the right, unable to see any places for his footpaws to rest. Both shoulders ached considerably from hanging so long, and Korrow's situation grew even more dire.

Then, in perfect time, it came into view; a little tree to the right and beneath him, protruding out of the cliff. He sighed with relief for the time being.

Only a minute later, Korrow was directly above the tree. Testing its sturdiness, Korrow tapped it with his left footpaw, the arm-width trunk of the tree shaking gently and rustling the green leaves a bit before becoming still again. Satisfied, Korrow gradually pressed down, the little tree proving its ability to hold him up.

There, Korrow stood awkwardly, holding his arms straight above his head, claws scratching the layered rock and holding it tightly.

After a short break, Korrow resumed his downward climb. The ground no longer looked so far away, and it seemed Korrow would make it to the bottom without any further complications.

However, misfortune seemed to be the recurring theme of the day, and before he knew it, Korrow discovered himself at another dead end without any way of getting down. The cliff became inexplicably smooth at the very bottom, and thus, lacked any sort of foothold. The cheetah cursed under his breath.

Assessing the newfound problem brought Korrow no solutions, save one. The only way left down was to fall.

The notion was almost inconceivable to Korrow, but desperate situations called for desperate measures. And, as a somewhat comforting thought, Korrow judged the distance to only be around ten meters in height. But, it was a long drop nonetheless, one that might very well crack a few ribs rib or break a bone, and if that happened… the thought made his head swim.

Korrow glanced down, feeling more and more uneasy about falling down, especially since his leg would need to take some of the force of the landing to prevent breaking his only remaining good leg. It was impossible to shake the memory of the pain he experienced further up the cliff when he had slipped. The landing here would be a jarring impact to his calf muscles, and without a doubt, it would hurt like the fires of hell.

Mustering all of his courage that remained, Korrow closed his eyes for one moment, the released his hold on the cliff, going into a freefall.

Not even the waterfall could drown out the ear splitting scream of anguish that ripped out of Korrow's dry throat, echoing around the rock face.

The young cheetah went silent, save for the gasping sobs that racked his battered body, both of his paws clutching the injured leg in a feeble attempt to ease the pain, but to no avail.

The sun was setting in the horizon, its reddish flame blocked by the cliff, casting a long, dark shadow over Korrow, who lay on the ground, rocking from side to side while blood oozed over the paws that held his leg still.

He could not get up, and even if he could, he didn't want to. The idea of suffering more than he already was right now by moving was not an action he was willing to take. Korrow's chin buried itself into his chest, and he hissed from between clenched teeth as his leg throbbed. When he took a peek at the wound, it was plain to see that it was greater in severity than before due to its constant aggravation and lack of time received to heal.

All Korrow wanted to do was lie down in the mud until the following morning, to rest his leg and to sleep. But the young cheetah still remembered why he had climbed down the cliff in the first place; Hunter was still missing.

Obligation to save his friend was the only thing left driving him onward. Korrow, resisting the temptation to sleep, made the agonizing decision to get back up, clumsily stumbling onto his strong leg and pushing himself up with both paws. He winced, his right leg dragging behind him.

Korrow limped wearily toward the unmistakable sound of the river and waterfall, groaning and bearing the pain as best as he could.

It was a matter of minutes to reach the river, which was only several meters away, due to his sluggish limp. The clear pool of water at the base of the falls was now fully visible on all sides, no longer concealed by the treetops, but Hunter was not anywhere to be seen. Korrow clenched his fists out of anger and frustration. Even if Hunter survived the rapids and falls, by the time Korrow found him, his friend would likely be dead.

Looking at the crystal clear pool of water suddenly reminded Korrow of his immense thirst. Taking a couple of long, limping strides to the pool, Korrow shuffled onto his left side, lowering himself down far enough to reach the water, and the cheetah drank, slurping water noisily out of his cupped paws. As soon as he had finished drinking, another idea formed in his brain. Sliding his leg toward the river, Korrow dipped his right leg into the cold pool, flinching as the stinging sensation traveled up his leg before being numbed by the chilly waters. Blood, mud, and dirt were washed downstream, cleaning his wound and providing it with a bit of the care it needed so badly.

Korrow, despite being pushed to his limits, acknowledged that he could not stay here for long. After a fleeting minute of coveted rest, the battered cheetah arose, biting his lip while his leg cried out against him, begging for more of the river's cooling touch. He pretended not to hear the cry and limped laboriously downstream, taking in his surroundings and searching the shallow, calmer waters of the widening river for Hunter.

Something odd caught his eye, along the edge of the far bank. It was a smooth, wooden rod, broken in half and bobbing up and down in the river current, strangely resisting the current. Upon closer inspection, Korrow faintly saw the string connecting both pieces together, looped around a stone that poked out of the surface of the water and stopping the smooth, wooden rods from drifting away.

The recognition of this object made Korrow's heart rise into his throat. That wasn't just a stick and string; it was the remains of Hunter's longbow.

So, if the longbow was here, that meant Hunter had to be farther downriver. Spurred on by the discouraging evidence, Korrow proceeded along the current, glad that the river was showing signs of slowing down as it grew broader. Perhaps Hunter…or his corpse… had washed up onto one of the banks. If that was true, Korrow hoped he would be on his side of the river, because in his poor condition, there wouldn't be a way to make it to the other side.

For almost an hour, Korrow limped, the sunlight diminishing until the moon became visible in the approaching night sky. The evening was almost over, and Korrow was losing precious light. Infuriated by his limp, which was slowing him down and stealing valuable time away from him, Korrow hatched another idea.

He whipped out his longbow and held it in his left hand, stabbing it into the mud. It bent, the wood flexible with use and age, but it would have to do for now. The young cheetah's impromptu walking stick relieved him from some of the hurt his leg was causing him, and increasing the speed of each painstaking step.

The golden glow of the sun's radiance reflecting off the sky was nearly gone, and the moon, eager to take the sun's place, shone even brighter in the star speckled sky. At the very least, the moon made it still possible to see in the dreary forest. For the first time that day, Korrow gave thanks that for once, something didn't go horrible wrong.

But the feeling was short-lived when the life of a friend was at stake, and gratitude abruptly transformed into a bitter feeling of hopelessness and doubt that Hunter may still be alive. In fact, when thinking about the probability that Korrow may run himself into the ground, only to find that his nagging doubts had been confirmed, almost took away his desire to try altogether.

Korrow, however, was rudely awakened from his despair. Out of the blue, his footpaw stepped into a sloshy, ankle high puddle of water. Startled by the cold temperature of the water lapping against his leg, Korrow took a closer look at where he was.

The river, as a result of the rainwater pouring into it, had overflowed its banks and created a swamp like terrain, flooding a small portion of the forest.

Now, there was a faint glimmer of hope in Korrow's reddish eyes. The possibility of finding Hunter in this flooded terrain was worth the time it took to search, he reasoned.

Korrow looked closely around the flooded expanse, water sloshing around his ankles. The trees blocked out the moon, shrouding the swamp in a thick cloud of darkness. Korrow could barely see anything as he stepped away from the riverside. If Hunter was actually here, Korrow would still have a hard time finding him.

He continued to search…

An unusual shape grabbed his attention, drawing Korrow's gaze subconsciously. It was a dark blob, lying on top of a piece of ground that was not submerged in the cold water, near the edge of the expanse. Furrowing his brow, he studied the out of place shape.

It was the outline of a body…Could it really be…

Korrow wasted no time, hobbling over to it. His footpaws kicked up water noisily, and he shouted, "Hunter? Is that you?"

The young cheetah fumbled over himself, flopping into the water haphazardly and moving up beside the body, soaked in the chilly water up to his hips. Up close, Korrow could clearly make out Hunter's cloak and arms. There was no question; this was Hunter's body. Paws shaking, he tapped Hunter on the shoulder, not knowing if his friend was dead or alive. He yelled, "Hunter! Can you hear me?"

Nothing. Korrow grunted.

Finding Hunter's head, which was covered by his cowl, Korrow crawled up next to Hunter, placing a paw on the back of Hunter's head and pinching the back of the hood. In a slow, peeling motion, Korrow's lifted it off of Hunter's head, fearing the worst.

Unexpectedly, Hunter's face showed no injuries. Seeing this, Korrow hopped over to the other side of him, putting his paw on Hunter's pelvis and starting to roll him over onto his back, and froze. A stubby, feather-flight arrow protruded out of Hunter's back, blood stains from the wound seeping through Hunter's cloak. Korrow's pupils dilated.

Ever the improviser, Korrow ran his paw down Hunter's leg until it touched the top of Hunter's heavy boot. He folded the pant leg up until the glimmering metal pommel of Hunter's boot knife became visible. Wrapping three fingers around it, Korrow yanked it clean of the hidden sheath, and set it to work by cutting the crossbow bolt with the straight edge, stopping the offending object from wiggling in the wound by pinching the bolt closest to its place of entry with his thumb and index finger.

It snapped off cleanly, leaving the point of the arrow in Hunter's back behind it. Korrow put the knife back into the sheath and carefully rolled Hunter onto his back, pressing his head to Hunter's chest, listening intently.

Stunned Korrow lifted his ear off of Hunter's chest, staring at his unresponsive form. Hunter was still breathing, faintly.

In a split second, everything became much more urgent. In his mind, Korrow was responsible for saving Hunter's life.

Leaning forward, he stretched out his arm and touched Hunter's forehead. It was hot to the touch.

Taken off guard by these improbable signs of life, Korrow started tapping Hunter's chest repeatedly, yelling, "Hunter, wake up! Can you hear me, Hunter? It's Korrow!"

No response. Angry, Korrow stopped tapping and cupped his paws, dipping them into the water and splashing them onto Hunter's face.

The unconscious cheetah, once again, remained motionless. Frantically, Korrow splashed pawful after pawful of water onto Hunter's face, hoping that he would stir. After three or four, Korrow halted, waiting for signs of life, breathless.

Then, all of a sudden, Hunter's eyelids flickered. Korrow's heart stopped.

They opened.

Korrow's face lit up like a candle. He was awake!

Hunter's eyes stared blankly ahead, focusing on something directly above him. Korrow's whisper broke the silence.

"Hunter? Are you okay? Say something…" He trailed off, his face the picture of worry.

The older cheetah was quiet, but his eyes moved, looking at Korrow with a distant stare. The young cheetah returned the stare, chest heaving up and down with concern. He didn't want Hunter to slip away…

Without warning, Hunter's paw lifted off of the ground, grabbing Korrow's arm. The younger cheetah flinched in shock by Hunter's sudden movement.

Hunter's paw squeezed Korrow tighter, lips moving incoherently. Korrow, with Hunter's paw still firmly grasping his forearm, awkwardly shuffled closer in, trying to read his lips. The fallen cheetah's head lifted off of the ground, and he coughed weakly.

It was almost a croak, but Hunter was loud enough to hear as he sputtered two words.

"I'm…sorry." He fell into a violent fit of coughing, his entire upper body rising off the ground before plopping back down with a squelching pop in the muddy grass. Korrow elevated Hunter's head with his paw, feeling for Hunter's pulse. It was still there, but it was difficult to detect.

"What are you sorry for? You saved my life," Korrow whispered, confused. Hunter shook his head, struggling to speak.

"I… don't hate you," he wheezed, bringing a paw to his mouth and coughing roughly into it before adding. "It wasn't your fault."

He slumped back down, completely spent.

Almost instantly, a burden was lifted from Korrow's shoulders. Any sense of responsibility for what had occurred, any hard feelings the young cheetah felt toward Hunter…all of the guilt that was weighing him down since that terrible night…was cast away. A smile flashed on Korrow's features, but Hunter's condition made it fade away in an instant.

It was obvious that Hunter beginning to fade. With every passing minute, his life was ebbing away, and even though he had somehow survived the waterfall, if he didn't get help fast, he wouldn't make it.

Lightly slapping Hunter's cheek, Korrow said, with a volume spawned from the urgency of Hunter's predicament, "Do you know if there's a village close by? I need to find a place where you can get help!"

Hunter's eyes remained slits, only half open. They fluttered, but then closed again. At first, he made no answer, but, just as Korrow began to fear the worse, he opened his eyes, his dry throat croaking, "Go south. To Warfang. Warn them… go south…warn them…"

He passed into unconsciousness, head lolling to one side. With great haste, Korrow felt for Hunter's pulse again, and fortunately, it was still there.

But now, yet another task was left for the younger cheetah. Korrow wasn't going to sit here and wait for Hunter to die.

Knowing what he had to do, he got up off the ground, Korrow staggered in the water, the rush of the river to his back. When he finally regained his balance, Korrow stooped low, grabbing Hunter by his ribcage and carefully put Hunter into a sitting position. From here, Korrow stamped his left footpaw into the mud, and lifted with all his might, roaring from the strain Hunter bodyweight placed on his body. Korrow hoisted Hunter onto his back, resting the unconscious cheetah's left arm around his shoulders and holding him around his lower back with the other arm.

Korrow took one step, but when he was forced to put his right footpaw down, the lack of strength in his right leg made him wobble, nearly dropping Hunter. He wasn't going to be able to move him this way. Unless...

Turning to grab Hunter with both arms around his waist, Korrow unslung his bow and reached down to the place where Hunter's boot knife was concealed. With a deft movement, Korrow slashed the bowstring, and the bow instantly straightened out.

He returned to his former carrying position, this time using his newly created walking stick to support himself. One step at a time, Korrow carried Hunter, the limp cheetah's legs dragging on the ground. The river was much shallower at this point, and he could cross here, but crossing the river was only the beginning. It was the start of a long journey south to the city named Warfang.

But that was a journey Korrow was willing to take.

…

**Author's Note: Yeppur, it took almost a month to update, yet again. Although, with six thousand words, this is the longest chapter I've written so far. For me, that's pretty long, but I dunno. **

**I hope this chapter didn't drag on too long. I felt like the beginning and middle were good, but closer to the end of the chapter, it seemed a bit unrefined. But, since it would probably be another few days to find out why this is, for the sake of time, I'll update anyway. :/ **

**Anywho, it'll probably be another month before I update again. Sorry to anyone reading this. DX**


	15. Warfang

The white walls of the Dragon City glistened in the rising sun, thoroughly soaked with rainwater from the night before. Now that the storm had passed, clear skies were left in its wake, welcoming the sunrise that painted the landscape the color of honey.

General Borros walked atop the battlements, surveying the city with an observant eye. This morning, as he did every morning, the male General was going for a stroll through the city. His morning walks helped put his mind and body on the alert, and he made it a habit to waken before the sunrise every day for that purpose.

The General had become accustomed to the brilliant sunrise Warfang witnessed every day, taking it for granted. But even he couldn't help but look at the picturesque scene before him. It was truly a wonder to behold, the wild grass of the plains swaying in the steady breeze like a vast ocean of amber waves, colored by the light of the sun. The ambience of the early morning birds chirping in the thickets greeted the glorious new day, given new energy by the sun's radiance which was left unhindered by a cloudless sky.

A smile on the General's normally stern features faded, however, as his face turned from the magnificent scene to gaze at the wall ahead of him, eyes coming to rest on the wreckage of the far wall. It was such a sudden contrast that Borros found himself frowning at the ugly remains of the formerly glorious battlements. Cracked, and charred black, it was a blemish on the white marble city, surrounded on all sides by chunks of rubble and a fallen watchtower. Over a year had passed since the grublin invasion of the city, but they had left a scar on the city as a reminder to just how close they had been to succeeding.

Even though the moles spent a considerable amount of time finishing much needed repairs to the buildings and city walls, this particular section was the most heavily damaged, and was still yet to be worked on. The General frowned, furrowing his brow. Borros was naturally an over-achiever, so this was unacceptable. He would need to set a crew of workers on it as soon as possible.

As he examined the structure, he picked up a movement ahead, on the ramp closest to the ruined wall. It didn't take long to figure out who it was.

Another mole, also dressed in the familiar black plated armor that the army wore, advanced up a ramp leading to the walltop, flanked by a second mole to his left. General Borros made sure they were heading in his direction before he stopped, placing both hands behind his back and standing to attention.

One of the moles, the taller and burlier of the two, had the lead by a good meter. He halted a few paces short of the General, bringing his right hand into a salute. Borros returned the gesture, addressing the other mole.

"At ease, Captain. What do you have to report?" Borros asked with a businesslike tone. The other mole dropped his hand to his side, still standing straight as an arrow. The Captain spoke, his voice gravelly and deep.

"Sir, Mason has asked permission to begin reconstruction on the far wall," the mole Captain stated simply. Borros raised his eyebrows in an inquisitive stare.

"Mason? How did he know that I wanted work done on the east wall, I wonder," Borros replied, curious. Then, he noticed the mole Captain's stance, at attention. Just as the Captain started speaking, Borros interjected, smiling.

"No need to remain at attention, Derik. This isn't a marching drill. Please, at ease." Borros gestured to the marble stone with one hand.

Captain Derik was a serious mole, always ready for duty and seldom relaxed, but uncommon use of his first name by the General put him at ease, his legs parting slightly and his shoulders sagging. With a nod to the General, Derik continued.

"He says he knows you cannot stand it, and that he's seen you looking it over on your morning walks. Says he's put it off for too long and wants to get to work on it," said the Captain, sounding more relaxed. Again, Borros was forced to be surprised. He and Mason were very good friends, so it didn't strike him odd that Mason would know of his morning walks, but at the same time, the old mole's observant nature caught him off guard.

"How did… does he already have a team assembled?" Borros stole a glance at the partially destroyed wall, cringing. "He's going to need quite a large team to fix that mess."

Captain Derik nodded a single time. "Yessir. Mason has a group of workers in mind for the job, and he'll set them to work at your word."

The news made the General chuckle. "I suppose I owe Mason some gratitude. Tell him I appreciate his initiative, and that he's welcome to begin work on the wall."

Derik nodded again. "I'll tell him at once, sir." He saluted, waiting until Borros was finished saluting him back before turning his back to him. Strangely enough, the other mole didn't move, his eyes roving over to the field with a look of worry plastered on his face. Derik looked to the smaller mole.

"Is something wrong?" Derik's eyes flashed with stern inquiry. The mole, not shifting his gaze, pointed a stubby finger at the field below.

"Sorry, sir… It's just that there's something in the meadow, coming this way."

Suddenly interested, both the Captain and the General whipped their heads around, searching the place where the soldier was indicating with his finger.

Sure enough, a very indistinct outline of somebody approaching the city gates became clear, the shadow casted by the sun behind them increasing their noticeability. Silent, all three of them watched the unknown visitor.

Borros was the first to notice that there wasn't just one, but two of the travelers, giving the impression of one body because they were huddled together.

Even more uncanny was the one on the right, holding the other cheetah on his shoulders and limping slowly, using a staff to hold both of them up.

The General's voice was commanding, "Tell them to open the gates."

At once, the Captain obeyed, muttering a hasty "Yes sir" before scampering off, bringing the mole that had seen them in the first place along.

Borros called out after them, booming, "And send a crew out with a stretcher!"

…

Everything had lost its shape, becoming a blurry haze, a myriad of colors shrouded in mist. Korrow no longer could keep track of time or thought, his body completely numb.

The young cheetah placed one foot in front of the other, succumbing to a rhythm he had performed the entire night. He was beyond the point of rationality, driven by the fragments of his strong will and stubbornness.

When Korrow first emerged from the forest and stepped onto the plain, the city had been clearer to his eye, but as the sun rose above the horizon, all that remained of it was an amorphous white dot, formless and without definition.

Then, the young cheetah heard a voice. It echoed, a distant call that didn't seem to originate from anywhere. The sound repeated itself, over and over again.

Suddenly, four black dots grew in front of him, and the mysterious voice amplified. Head swimming, Korrow tried to raise his head to look at the four fast approaching figures.

Amid the effort of lifting his head, Korrow's eyes darkened, a shadowy black cloud growing from the peripheries of his vision. He tried to stand, to keep his balance, but it was all for naught. His legs wobbled, and all of the sounds around him dropped away.

Mercifully, Korrow passed into unconsciousness, his body crumpling to the ground, dragging Hunter down with him as he struck the dirt.

…

Borros walked briskly down one of the walkways, heading for the main gate as the mole crew returned to the city, bearing the two travelers on stretchers. His view of the entrance was blocked by the walls of many of the structures towering above him, but as he rounded a corner, the central courtyard came into view. The gate was wide open, and both of the stretchers were being carried inside by four of the moles. Borros ran down the stairs, passing the metal gateway that separated the walltop from the courtyard and striding over to where the mole crew was standing. One of them shouted to Borros as he came near.

"They're cheetahs, sir. One was already unconscious, and the other one passed out before we could ask him if he was okay."

Borros placed two fingers below each of the cheetah's necks, breathing a deep sigh of relief when his fingertips picked up the familiar pulsating sensation of life.

"What would two cheetahs be doing here, traveling with injuries like," he pointed to Korrow's leg, which was oozing blood and clear fluid, "this?"

The other mole shrugged. "I do not know, sir. Shall I take them to a doctor?"

Borros, face scrunched up with discouragement, waved the mole away and nodded his head in affirmation, "Yes, of course. At once!"

The four stretcher bearers spared no time in moving the two cheetahs out of the courtyard, jogging energetically, their metal boots clanking against the hard stone of the courtyard.

The Captain, who had been standing further away, approached the General, noticing his disgruntled facial expression and the way he stared at the ground, chin resting in the palm of his hand.

"Is it bad, sir?" The Captain stepped in, nervous. Whenever the General became disgruntled, he tended to be rather irritable, and so Derik was careful not to interrupt the General's train of thought.

Borros said nothing for a minute, appearing perplexed. Thinking he hadn't been heard, Derik repeated, voice shrinking, "Sir?"

"Hmm? Oh… Yes. Very bad," Borros mumbled, hardly paying attention. Then, out of the blue, he turned around, walking with a purpose after the stretcher bearers.

Puzzled by the abrupt exit, The Captain jogged after the General until he was side by side with him. "What is it, sir?"

The mole general didn't look back, his pace quickening. He answered, "I need to pay somebody a visit."

…

A breeze ruffled the glossy leaves of the trees, showering rainwater onto Terrador's face. The Earth Guardian blinked his eyes rapidly, shaking the rainwater off of his head. He frowned, sauntering through the gardens aimlessly.

Like everyone else, Terrador was sick of all the rain and welcomed the sunshine this fine morning, but at least the downpours had been good for tending to the gardens. The heavy deluge the night before had doused the flowers, bringing them to full bloom. Normally, in the heat of Warfang's summer, the flowers would have already begun to shrivel, but this season had been a particularly rainy one, and even in the late summer, the daffodils at the base of each tree bloomed, made shiny from the collections of water on their petals.

Nowadays, the Earth Guardian didn't tend to be very busy, and although he enjoyed the freedom to relax, so much downtime was making him a little lazy. Terrador was an old dragon, but only recently did he start accepting the limits of his age. Every year his body aged, the youthful energy he formerly possessed dissipated. Furthermore, his joints were feeling the effects of rheumatism, an aching reminder of his senility.

A pretty stone archway girdled the entrance to the gardens, barely high enough to let Terrador through. The dragon had to dip his head down and fold his gargantuan wings onto his back in order to get through. Thinking he was through, Terrador turned his body, but cringed as the spiked ball on the end of his tail collided with the archway, chipping off a piece of the stone. Terrador bit his lip, and then continued down the street, pretending nothing had happened, smiling nervously.

The street was broad, nearly empty in the early hours of the morning. Terrador's bulky frame stood out like a sore thumb on the cobblestone road, drawing the attention of the few onlookers nearby. Terrador smiled as he walked past a merchant. The mole nervously smiled back, busying himself with arranging the vegetables in front of him and shifting his focus to the menial task.

It was no secret that he, the other guardians, and Spyro and Cynder all lived here, but in a city full of moles, the dragons seemed so out of place that their presence always aroused curiosity and wonder, as well as unease. The dragon's large size was quite intimidating to the moles, which looked puny in comparison, and as a result, the occasional bystander was often driven away.

The clinking cacophony of metal clacking against stone could be heard up ahead. Terrador craned his neck, squinting and searching for the source of the sound.

An armored mole, short even by mole standards, was jogging uphill, his course set for Terrador. The Earth Guardian's scaly brow wrinkled with puzzlement. Was that…?

He called down to the mole, which waved high in the air with one arm, trying to get his attention, "Greetings, General Borros!"

The dragon stopped, the mace on the end of his tail dragging from side to side on the road. The General, when he was within earshot, hollered back to Terrador, his words carrying a message of urgency.

"There's something you need to see, Terrador." The General slowed down to a halt, pointing behind him with his thumb. Terrador went alongside the mole, asking, "What is it, General?"

The mole was not one to show much emotion, but his jittery body language and hurried gait were telltale signs that something was wrong, and this worried Terrador. Borros relayed the message with great haste.

"There are two travelers who just arrived at the city gates. Both are badly injured, and we've placed them under the care of a medic for the time being. But that's not all."

As the mole trailed off, Terrador's impatience got the better of him, and he snapped back, "What else is it? Are they in grave condition?"

The General nodded. "Indeed, one of them is, and the other is not well off, but," he paused, grimacing, "they're… they're cheetahs, sir."

Immediately, Terrador's deep voice boomed out, noticeably rising in volume and pitch as he retorted, "Cheetahs? From Avalar?"

Borros shook his head. "I'm sorry, but both were unconscious before we could ask them anything. Avalar is the closest known place to Warfang where cheetahs reside, but for now, we have no idea who they are or where they are from."

The troubling news served to quicken both of their steps, the odd pair descending down the central street leading to the main gate.

"Then take me to them," said Terrador. "I want to see these cheetahs for myself."

…

Heat radiated from his fur, a raging fever that clouded his senses and overwhelmed all other feeling in his body.

That was when Korrow realized he was awake.

His eyes shot open. Panic set in fast, and his eyes darted around him, taking in his new surroundings.

He was lying on a cot, and his head was rested on a pillow and elevated. White walls surrounded him, but before he could get a good look around, the strain of moving his eyes around brought an onslaught of dizziness, and he closed his eyes, head swimming. He opened them back up, but everything seemed to be in motion above him, swirling and turning like a wheel. He groaned loudly, chest rising and falling laboriously with each breath.

Then, something cold and wet caressed his forehead, and droplets of water began to dribble down the sides of his face. Disoriented and startled by the sensation, Korrow flailed up with his arms and cried out, but his wrists were suddenly grabbed firmly by two firm, big hands. Korrow struggled, but his hands were placed back down on the bed.

"Shhh… shh…" A voice attempted to soothe him, "Stay still, stay still. You're in good hands."

Korrow, too weak to resist any longer, calmed down, although his breathing was still irregular. The next thing the young cheetah felt was a paw sliding to the back of his head, gently lifting it up.

"Can you hear me?" A squeaky, hoarse voice piped up again, right next to his ear. Korrow opened his eyes, anxious to see who was in the room with him.

A mole, tall and skinny for his species, stood at Korrow's beside, rectangular spectacles framing the black beady eyes that were peering through the glass lenses at the injured cheetah. A shallow, metal bowl was clutched in his right hand. Korrow blinked slowly at the stranger.

The mole repeated, slower this time, "Can you hear me? Nod your head if you do."

The simple request san kin, and Korrow nodded once, barely enough to raise his head off of the pillow before resting his head back onto it. The spectacled mole nodded back, indicating he had seen it.

"Can you sit up?" The mole asked with a near whisper. Korrow, not wasting any time to reply, sat up, dizziness causing his upper body to sway from left to right. Seeing the cheetah in this state, the doctor was swift to support Korrow by placing a paw between his patient's shoulder blades. The spectacled mole brought the edge of the bowl to Korrow's cracked lips.

"I'm going to give you one sip at a time. Drink slowly. Do you understand?"

Korrow listened, then nodded again. Now that it was obvious this mole was trying to help him, he relaxed.

Smooth metal brushed against his lips, and he opened his lips slightly to let the water fall in easier. The mole titled the bowl gradually, letting the life giving liquid trickle into Korrow's mouth. As soon a miniscule amount of water dribbled in, the doctor withdrew the bowl, letting Korrow swallow.

This cycle was repeated for several minutes until the bowl was empty.

"Good, good," the mole mumbled, putting the bowl onto a little wooden table near Korrow's bed. Now that he was sitting up and the bowl was removed from his lips, he had a full view of the room around him. It was a small room, comprised of white, stone walls, barren of any decoration. A table containing an array of medical tools and containers stood beside a door at the top right corner of the room, but otherwise, the room was featureless. Once his examination of the room ended, he saw his right leg, encircled with bandages, an ugly crimson spot of blood seeping through the dressing as it wept.

The doctor was busy at the medical table, rifling through the extensive variety of containers before grabbing a pewter jug and producing a wooden spoon from the coat pocket on his chest. Korrow watched curiously as the mole dipped the spoon in to the jug and walked back over to Korrow's bedside, balancing a thick, brown liquid in the spoon over the opening in the top of the jug.

"Swallow this, m'kay?" The mole placed it in front of Korrow's face. Korrow, trusting in this strange mole not to hurt him, opened his mouth, and the doctor dumped the spoon's contents into his mouth.

It tasted so vile that Korrow gagged, trying to spit it out. But the doctor anticipated this from the start, and held Korrow's mouth closed and pinched the cheetah's snout with two fingers, forcing him to swallow to putrid medicine. Korrow shivered, shaking his head and scrunching his face up at the bitter taste.

The doctor released his hold on Korrow's lips and snout. Aggravated by the sickening taste, fell into a coughing fit, moaning loudly. The mole's voice dripped sympathy.

"I know, it's terrible, but it'll help you to fall asleep in a short time so I can do more work on your leg. You'll be alright, I promise."

Korrow heard all of this, but even so, he wasn't quite ready to forgive the mole just yet. Never in his short life did he taste something so awful.

The four legs of the stool nearby grated noisily on the marble floor as the spectacled mole pulled it up to Korrow's bedside, sitting directly across from Korrow's injured leg, eyeing it warily. A minute stretched out before the doctor spoke.

"How did you get that injury?"

No answer came from Korrow. The cheetah was lying motionless on the cot, eyes sealed shut by the medicine that was working in his system. The doctor smiled. The medicine had worked much faster than he expected it to, meaning he didn't have to wait any longer to redress his patient's wound. If the cheetah was awake for the procedure of cleaning the wound, he would need two others to restrain him, and he didn't want his patient to suffer needlessly.

Moving the stool to the side, he set himself to the task.

…...

The medical complex was several blocks away from the main gate, near the center of the city's lower level. It was a very open structure, with the familiar Warfang styled archway marking the entrance. Terrador noted, with a rueful grin, that it would be an effort to make it through the opening.

The General proceeded first, beckoning the earth guardian to follow when he hesitated slightly. Ungracefully, Terrador folded his wings back onto his back, dipping his head down underneath the stone archway, taking care not to let his horns scratch the top of the arch as he went through. Borros smirked, but it went unnoticed by Terrador, his focus solely on not destroying the entrance to the medical building.

"It may be impossible for you to see the cheetahs at the moment, sir. You might not be able to get all the way through the doorways."

The General's complexion remained austere, but the earth dragon could detect some underlying humor in his words. Terrador frowned.

"One would think that in the _Dragon_ City, a dragon would be able to fit through the doorways without having to worry about destroying them," he retorted. Terrador's obvious irritability on the matter made Borros wary to respond. Instead, he changed the subject, moving into the bland courtyard and through to the columned entrance to the inner complex.

At the time of the war with Malefor, it had been a necessity to create a medic house in order to accommodate the innumerable wounded, but since the end of the war, the doctors conditioned to treating serious injuries on a daily basis had become almost dormant, dealing with common sicknesses and ailments rather than potentially lethal wounds. Both cheetahs were in much worse condition than most patients that were used to being seen since Malefor's defeat.

One armored mole stood to the side of one of the doorways, his chest out, chin up in the position of a stationary soldier. In on official, businesslike fashion, he saluted his superior.

"Sir," he boomed. The General waved down the soldier's arm.

"At ease, soldier."

The mole complied, hands unmoving by his side as the General addressed him. "Are the cheetahs inside the medic house?"

"Yessir! Both arrived some time ago, sir."

Borros smiled. "Do you know if they can be seen by company?"

The guard's eyes roved to Terrador's gargantuan frame, and he added with considerably less volume than before, "Only one of them is, but… I'm not sure if you will be able to make it through, sir."

Terrador's face flushed with a temperamental flare, but he kept himself under control and retorted back, looking at the door with annoyance, "That's alright."

Sensing the formidable earth guardian's disappointment, Borros began to think of an idea, biting his lip in contemplation. A moment later, he re-addressed the soldier in front of him.

"What are you doing here, soldier?" He inquired.

The soldier was nervous, but he was quick to respond, "I'm not sure, sir. I helped escort the two cheetahs to the medic house, but now I'm just standing guard here, sir."

The General noted the other mole's lack of confidence with a smirk. "In that case… I have an important task for you." He stepped forward, whispering something into the soldier's ear. The burly mole nodded obediently, saluting Borros.

"At once, sir." Without another word, he strode away, leaving the mismatched pair behind in the courtyard.

When he had left, Terrador made a quizzical frown. "Where did you send him to?"

Borros turned to face Terrador, "To the house of Spyro and Cynder. I seem to recall that they have both had experience with the Avalarians in the past?"

"Yes, they have. Are you getting them just because I can't fit through the entrance?" Terrador asked, indignant. Sagely, Borros looked to the ground and away from Terrador, letting the silence answer Terrador's question. Terrador's jaw dropped, in disbelief that something so silly was holding him back from seeing the two patients. Still, he accepted this fact, but with a grudge.

"Very well then," he muttered.

…

The cool hours of the early morning were warmed as the sun rose, all of the glorious shades of orange and red on the horizon washing away, revealing a canvass of bright blue sky beneath.

Always on schedule, the sunlight broke through the window of Spyro's quaint home, tauntingly resting on his scaly brow. He woke up, squinting when they were encountered with the blinding light. Avoiding a sudden reflex to shoot his hand up to cover his face, he rolled his head away from the offending light and looked over to Cynder. She was sleeping, motionless.

Making sure he wouldn't wake her, he slid off of the bed and soundlessly landed on the smooth marble floor, and crept around the end of the bed, staring at the ground to concentrate on not letting his talons click against the hard floor, he was about to make it through the door…

"Trying to sneak out, are you?"

Spyro cringed at the sound of Cynder's voice seeming to berate him from behind. Timid, he looked over at the bed, to see her laying on her side, eyes wide open and looking straight at him, a ghost of a smile present on her features. He sighed, returning the smile.

"You're good at that," he remarked admiringly, adding in, "I'm not going anywhere important. Just going for a walk, is all."

Cynder tossed the blanket off of her, yawning and stretching her legs off the side of the bed, "So you were just going to leave me here all by myself, hmm?"

Spyro grinned. "Yeah… I mean, you looked like you were still fast asleep, so I didn't want to wake you up."

Cynder chuckled. "Oh, please. Don't worry about me. Besides," she hopped down, "it's getting late. I need to get my lazy butt out of bed anyway." She wiped the sleep out of her eyes. Spyro laughed in agreement.

"Yeah, I think we've been getting lazier and lazier every day. Sleeping in later, walking around the city and not even knowing where we're going…"

"Well, it's not like there's been lots of interesting stuff going on lately," Cynder shrugged. "There's not that much to do around here. But," She came up beside him, kissing him on the cheek, "I kind of like it."

Spyro's purple cheeks flared red. Cynder smiled.

Then, there was a knock on the door.

Both dragons froze, not sure if they heard correctly. Puzzled, Spyro asked Cynder, "Did you hear somebody knock on the door?"

She nodded wordlessly. Spyro brushed past her, heading down the stairs.

"I wonder who that could be?" He wondered aloud. Cynder shrugged, and followed him down, also curious about who knocked on their door. They couldn't remember the last time anybody had knocked on their front door, and generally, they were left alone by the rest of the city out of a respect for privacy.

"I'll get the door," said Spyro. Cynder stayed back a ways, keeping her eye on the door as Spyro opened it.

A mole, hunched over with his hands on his knees and breathing heavily, was standing at the other side of the door. At the sight of the mighty purple dragon, the mole shot upright, trying his hardest to keep his heavy breathing under control as he choked out, "Master Spyro."

Spyro looked at the soldier with a quizzical stare. He replied, "Are you alright, soldier?"

The mole shook his head adamantly, gasping out the word "yes". This only served to indicate to Spyro that the opposite was true. Before the soldier could attempt to say anything more, Spyro said to him, sounding as friendly as he could, "Catch your breath first. I can wait, whatever it is."

At once, the mole let all the air out of his lungs, inhaling and exhaling rapidly and puffing out a "thank you" in between breaths. Spyro gave him time to get his breathing back to normal before he relayed the message, his features solemn and his voice apologetic.

"I'm afraid I have bad news for you, Master Spyro…"

…

Terrador scanned the sky, eyes coming to rest on two fast approaching figures in the distance. He called out to the General, who was pacing in front of the medic house anxiously, "I see them."

Borros stopped mid pace and looked up at the blue sky. Sure enough, the two dragons were there, dropping low in the sky and spreading their wings out in order to reduce their speed.

The familiar whoosh of flapping wings could be heard as the two young dragons slowed their descent, landing heavily on the stone courtyard with a pair of audible _thud. _The earth dragon took a moment to admire at how large they had grown since he had last seen them before he greeted them.

"Thank you for coming, you two. It's been quite a while, although…" He added ruefully, "I wish we could see each other under more pleasant circumstances."

Grimacing, Cynder folding her wings back against her back. "Yeah, us too. But it's good to see you anyway, Terrador."

Spyro, on the other hand, wasted no time with greetings. He asked, apprehensive, "Where are the two cheetahs that came in this morning? Did you see them, Terrador?"

The earth dragon shook his head. "Unfortunately, I have not. I would have gone to see them myself, but…" He pointed with his wing, "I can't get inside."

Cynder looked at the door, and then back at Terrador. She grinned.

"So you called us here because we could fit through the door?" She asked incredulously. Terrador, his head hung in embarrassment, nodded in affirmation. Despite the seriousness of their visit, Cynder tried to hold in a laugh.

Borros approached the two dragons, dwarfed by Terrador's hulking frame. "I'll show you to their rooms. I dearly hope you are not acquainted with them."

Spyro frowned. "Why? I mean, how bad are they hurt?"

The mole General bit his lip. "They are in pretty bad shape. One of the cheetahs might not make it."

The words lingered in the air around them. Upon hearing the troubling news, a knot formed in Spyro's stomach.

"That's not good…" his frown deepened. Borros shook his head.

"No, it isn't." He moved toward the medic house, apparently in a bit of a hurry. "It's best if we get there as soon as possible. Follow me, Master Spyro."

Spyro and Cynder, exchanging nervous glances, followed the General into the building and left Terrador behind. The earth dragon, still a bit miffed that he couldn't join them, stayed quiet.

There was just enough room for them to get through, but they had to fold their wings tight against their backs to get through. Once they were in, an oblong chamber with a domed ceiling awaited them. It was quite large, but there were no decorations or intricacies in the marble stonework whatsoever. In fact, the building looked like it had been built in a hurry. Cynder's eyes wandered around the room, seeing dozens of doors along the edge of the dome, each one of them identical in size and color.

As they walked, their footsteps echoed around the dome, especially the General's, whose metal boots created quite a racket as they clanged against the hard stone floor. But Spyro was oblivious to all noise around him. He was in another world, hardly paying any attention to his surroundings and looking at the floor directly in front of his feet.

Something was bothering him. All of this seemed so familiar, but he couldn't think of why. The more he spent time thinking about it, the more out of place his feelings seemed, but even though he tried to shake away his worries, they wouldn't leave.

"Hey, are you alright, Spyro?" Cynder asked. The purple dragon didn't look over to her, and kept staring down at the floor.

"Yeah, Cynder, I'm fine. I'm just thinking."

Curious, she leaned in a little, getting closer to him. "Thinking? About what?"

For the first time, Spyro looked up from the floor, not sure why he was feeling so odd. If he were to honestly answer Cynder, he would say he had no idea, but thankfully for him, their conversation was cut short by Borros when he said back to them, "The first cheetah is right here."

The two dragons nodded in acknowledgement, and Borros knocked on the door. A voice, quavering with senility, replied from the other side of the door, "Who is it? Is that you, Borros?"

"Yes, doc. May we come in?" He asked nicely, pressing his ear to the door.

"We? Who else is with you?"

The door opened without warning, causing Borros to hop back from it. A tall mole wearing a pale white doctor's vest and a pair of rectangular spectacles revealed himself in the doorway. Upon seeing the two dragons standing there, he stumbled backward, placing a hand over his mouth in shock.

"Oh, oh my… I, uh… I wasn't expecting…" He trailed off, flustered. Stepping off to the side, he gave a low bow, waving them into the room, "If Master Spyro and Lady Cynder need to come in, they may."

Cynder smiled warmly, and stepped in with a gracious nod of her head. "Thank you." Borros let Spyro go in after her before setting foot inside, careful not to step on the dragon's tails as he moved around to the other side of the room.

"Do you two recognize him at all?"

All three of them looked at the unconscious cheetah lying on the bed, shaking their heads as they looked at his face. Borros saw this, and stepped out of the room. "Whenever you are ready, Master Spyro, I will be out here to show you the other cheetah. But I suggest

Their eyes traveled down the length of his body until they came to rest upon a bloodied bandage on his right leg, which was oozing out the sides with clear fluid. Spyro and Cynder grimaced simultaneously. The doctor noticed their looks of disgust, and said grimly, "Aye, it is a nasty wound. Got a little bit infected, but I am treating it with a poultice that will hopefully stop the weeping."

Spyro, with fascination, stepped closer to the cheetah's leg. His mouth went dry. "How did he get that?"

The doctor shrugged. "I'm sorry. We have no idea, Master Spyro. Although, I can tell with certainty that it isn't from a weapon of any kind. The wound's edges are too jagged. But I cannot say the same for the other cheetah…"

Right away, Spyro and Cynder's eyes widened. Cynder was the first to pop the question, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, Lady Cynder, that he was attacked. We found a part of an arrow lodged in his shoulder as he was being carried in, along with a host of other wounds." He hung his head sadly. "We aren't sure if he will make it."

Spyro felt a cold bead of sweat run down the side of his face. Abruptly, the purple dragon made a move for the door, calling back, "Thank you, doctor. Come on, Cynder!"

The dragoness sensed Spyro's urgency, and followed him out of the room after waving to the doctor, who was a bit surprised at their sudden departure.

"Thank you for your help!"

Following closely behind Borros, Spyro moved into a narrow hallway, branching off from the main dome. Borros was forced to move at a brisk pace, trying to stay ahead of Spyro, who was nearly pressing into Borros's back. The General reported to Spyro, "The other cheetah is in one of their surgery rooms. I am not sure if they will allow us to go inside at the moment, but I will do my best."

"Okay," Spyro snapped, his tone far from amiable. "Do what you have to do. I want to see him."

"As you wish, Master Spyro," Borros said respectfully. Cynder cantered up to them, fitting into the space between the wall and Spyro. She didn't say a word.

A curtain was draped over the entrance of the operating room to the left. Borros held up his hand in a motion for the two dragons to stay put, and peeked around the curtain.

"I have visitors here to see your patient?" He half said, half asked for permission. After a short period of silence, another mole spoke from inside the room, "Now is not the best time, General… err, as you can see…"

Borros frowned, swallowing nervously and looking away from whatever was on the other side of the curtain. Whatever was there, Spyro thought, it must not be a pretty sight. He felt a wave of fear sweep over him, and he wiped another drop of sweat off of his forehead.

"Spyro and Cynder are the ones who are requesting to see your patient, doctor. I promise that their visit will be brief." He tried again, biting his lip and looking over to Spyro, who was anxiously scraping his claws into the hard stone floor. At hearing the names of the two dragons, the mole's tone changed.

"Spyro and Cynder? Aaah… tell them they can come in. But be careful," he warned.

Spyro didn't wait; he heard the doctor, and went up to the curtain. Borros reiterated the doctor's request to be careful, quickly adding in, "He doesn't look good, Spyro."

Taking heed of the warning, Spyro threw back the curtain, and at once, looked away from the table where the cheetah lay.

He was lying on his stomach, and two other moles were operating on the cheetah's back. A small pool of blood was forming on the table from the wound, and the moles were at work with scalpels, carrying out each incision as precisely as possible. Beside the limp form of the cheetah lay a bloodied It was a grisly sight, but Spyro was able to stomach it. Cynder was close behind him, and when she saw the injury, gave a sharp intake of breath. Still, seeing the moles at work, she did not make any comment, not wanting to distract them and cause them to make a mistake. While she turned her face away, Spyro rounded the table, keeping himself far enough away to avoid disturbing the surgeons.

The cheetah's head was turned away from the two dragons, hiding his face. As Spyro made it around the table, his gaze was drawn to an object against the wall.

It was a cowl, brownish tan in color, in a wrinkled heap. Spyro's stomach did backflips. He knew that cowl…

"Master Spyro, is everything alright?" The doctor who was overseeing the operation asked.

Ignoring him, Spyro moved in a little closer, stepping to his right and getting a better look at the cheetah's face. He froze. Could it possibly be…?

It was.

"Master Spyro…?"

He remembered everything. The smoldering remains of the village, the bloodied corpses torn limb from limb, the smell of rotting flesh.

He remembered Avalar.

"Master Spyro?"

Out of nowhere, Spyro bolted for the exit. Cynder was forced to leap out of the way, crying out as Spyro sprinted past, nearly knocking her down. The purple dragon threw the curtain aside, almost bowling Borros over in the process and leaving everyone else far behind. Cynder, recovering from her shock, chased after Spyro, leaving behind her a scene of confusion.

"What are you doing? Spyro!" She screamed. Spyro's only response was to run faster, and Cynder lost sight of him as he rounded the corner, re-entering the dome. She cursed loudly.

Spyro shot across the room, running his fastest and leaving Cynder way behind him. Folding his wings onto his back and lowering his head, he aimed his run so that he went through the doorway to the medic house without getting stuck, and emerged into the courtyard.

Terrador, with a turn of his head, saw the Spyro rocket out of the medic house, and before he could manage to say anything, the purple dragon gave a powerful flap of his wings, launching himself into the air. As soon as Spyro was lost to sight, Cynder leapt through the door. Looking around frantically, she saw Terrador standing there, befuddled.

"Which way did he go?" She spat, stretching her wings out in preparation to fly. Terrador pointed northwest.

"That way… Cynder, what is going…"

She didn't hear him. In a second, she had disappeared as well, flapping her wings and propelling herself off of the ground, zooming away and leaving a confused Terrador in her wake.

…

Spyro never stopped flapping his wings, sweat pouring from his body as the hot midday sun beamed down at him. The force of the air against his face forced him to squint as he headed west, to the wide open fields of Avalar.

He flew over a vast plain, and then over a forest. Fifteen minutes went by, but Spyro didn't slow down; that is, until a small, discolored dot appeared on the horizon.

Spyro pressed both wings against his back, going into a dive and cutting through the air like a knife, heading for the dot. Soon, it grew in size to a rectangular shaped block, set beside a fast flowing river.

That's when he smelled the unmistakable sickly sweet odor of death.

"No…it cannot be…"

He descended, the smell growing even stronger as he neared the ground. The ashes which remained of the village huts became visible as black dots. Spyro sobbed.

"No…no, no!"

Bodies littered the ground, and the odor of death became too strong for him to handle. He flew over the scene of the massacre, choking out sobs, tears flowing freely from his eyes.

"No!"

He wept brokenly, overwhelmed with grief. Who could have done such a thing?

His sense of injustice fueled the fire that was brewing in his soul. In moments, sadness morphed into anger, and anger to hate. An ominous black shroud took shape around his purple scales, and his eyes glowed white. His tears were gone.

Another smattering of dots appeared beneath him in the center of the valley, moving to the west.

It was Golinod and his grublins.

All of the hate festering in his heart came out with one fell roar, and he went into a dive, howling in terrible fury. There was no warning as Spyro fell upon them, and they screeched and shrieked in terror as ripped through them with an unstoppable lust for blood.

**Author's Note: Hey, y'all. Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, and Happy Kwanzaa to all! Did I keep you waiting long enough? **

**Yeah, I'm really sorry that it took me three months to update. That is just atrocious, but I didn't really have much of an opportunity to write anything until now. That, and my parents still don't know I'm on here… but whatever.**

**Also, is it me, or does this chapter suck eggs through a crazy straw? I mean, sure, it's long and everything, but I think this is my crappiest chapter yet. Especially the ending. *shudder* **

**So, uh…yeah. Till next time…**

**PS: I'm also thinking about changing the title to this story. Because, you know, this one kind of sucks... just so ya know...**


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